Danse Macabre
by FaithLestrange
Summary: As Methos comes to terms with the possibility of the actual Biblical Apocalypse and what that means for him, the Winchesters have to come to terms with the fact the Death is just some guy who would sooner share a beer with you than kill you.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Danse Macabre**

**Summary: Winchesters meet Methos, things happen.**

**Rating: T  
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**_Disclaimer: I own neither Highlander nor Supernatural_**

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I stared down the barrel of the shotgun that was currently being leveled at me.

"Could you put that away?" I asked as though I hadn't a care in the world. But it was quite the contrary, for I had no desire for my end to be at the hands of some trigger happy mortal.

I guess you could say that getting my head blown off by a shotgun was hardly on my list of 'things to do'.

I'm sure my Quickening would exact my revenge and electrocute the hell out of the man, considering that there would be no Immortal around to receive it. It wouldn't matter much to me though, because of the whole being dead part of that scenario. And I'd hate to see my Quickening go to waste, if he had to die at all.

It would be a terribly inauspicious end to the world's old living Immortal. Although... it would have had some sort of cosmic irony to it if I'd lived for well over 5,000 years, only to die at the hands of some ungrateful ass I'd only been trying to help.

"Shut your mouth, demon!" The grizzled man growled at me.

Of course it figures the moment I help a complete stranger out of the kindness of my _'heart'_ this would happen. This was all Macleod's fault. Helping people always kicked me in the ass.

"I helped you. That's hardly a good reason to kill me."

He kept his gun trained at my head without moving a muscle. I turned behind me to see the man's 67 Impala's tires staring back at me. Maybe I could try a different angle of approach.

"And if you shot me you'd dent your fine automobile with that buck shot. And you'd have to clean off all that brain-matter and vitriol." I made a disgusted face, "It would be a shame to sully the poor girl like that, don't you think?"

He spared a glance at the Impala with pensive look. I used that moment's distraction to move my head out of the way of his shotgun and kicked his legs out from under him. The man cursed up a storm as I attempted to break his hold of the gun. His struggle ceased suddenly and he reached into his back pocket. I thought maybe he'd been reaching for a knife, so I was wholly prepared to block the eventual attempt at stabbing. But instead my hands were met with a glass bottle that shattered and cut into my skin. Liquid splashed over my face and I sputtered as some of it went right up my nose. _Lovely._

There's was a tense second and the man was staring at me in shock. Tentatively, I swiped my tongue along my lips to test the substance. It was water. I looked at the shards that were now digging into both my skin and the man's.

He'd called me a demon. I'd stumbled across him getting the crap kicked out of him by what I'm pretty sure was an aswang. The pieces fell together.

Before when I'd seen the winged woman attacking him I'd wondered why a Filipino demon that enjoyed eating fetuses and small children had taken an interest in this man in the middle of Nowhere, Iowa. But now it was rather obvious. He was a hunter.

I'd managed to chop the demon's head off with my Ivanhoe, but not before the aswang had disemboweled me. Not fun. It hadn't been a quick death for me. The man had been kind, likely thinking I was another hunter and had tried to make me comfortable. He'd likely seen enough wounds to know mine was fatal.

Then I'd died. And I got better.

I grinned up at him, which probably wasn't the best choice, but occasionally my desire to be a smart-ass overrode my sense of self-preservation, "Thank you for that. How'd you know I was thirsty?"

He glared and me suspiciously and grabbed for a pistol that must have been shoved down the back of his pants and aimed it my head. I calmed, a little. A single bullet in the head was preferable to getting the whole thing blown off by a shotgun. Although, the hunter might have the foresight to chop my head off before I recovered, so I still wasn't out of the woods yet.

He knelt down closer to me to look me square in the eyes. He had an intense gaze, but I'd encountered far more intimidating men in my time. I was one of them.

"_Christo._" He said the words, clearly expecting it to elicit some sort of response.

All he got from me was an amused brow, "_Contra felicem vix deus vires habet_." I made sure I used the bastardized pronunciation of Latin used in the present, and not how Latin was actually spoken when it was used as a common dialect. I didn't want to confuse the poor guy and have him kill me for speaking in tongues.

So, he thought I was a demon who would flinch at the name of God.

I'd always wondered why saying that had any affect on supernatural beings. I think it had more to do with the thought or belief behind the words, rather than the words themselves. The power was only what the person gave them. The demons had been here longer than any religion that was around now.

And I should know. I'd seen the rise and fall of many a belief system. I knew better than anyone that religions were ephemeral and those that did last any stretch of time changed so entirely from what they were when they began that they could hardly even be called the same religion.

I'm not sure what I thought now about the whole 'God(s)' dilemma. When I was young I'd believed in the spirits of the earth, winds, waters, etc., just as everyone else had... now, frankly I was indifferent to the entire notion of belief. I believed very little and nothing I believed wasn't so strongly felt that it wasn't open for change or alteration. So, perhaps I aught to have called them my _'passing fancies'_ because '_belief_' held more weight than I would give my thoughts on the matter.

I was willing to change. I had to be willing to change, otherwise I would never have made it this long. A lot of Immortals didn't understand that. In order to survive in this world they needed to change right along with it. It was a lesson Kronos sure hadn't learned. Thousands of years and he'd still been clinging to the Horsemen like a baby to a security blanket.

I'd toyed with the idea of religion once in the 8th century. I'd been a monk. Yes, a monk. Darius eat your heat out. It hadn't lasted long. I think it had been a momentary lapse in my sanity. But it had meant no one could take my head while I stayed in the monastery with the other robe-wearers.

I suppose I'd always felt that there was _something_ out there; something more powerful than us that could have been called God or Gods, because how else could you explain the demons, or the Immortals?

But I wasn't about to discount the idea that nothing existed beyond this life or that absolutely no one was looking out for me '_up there_'. Which was part and parcel to why I took care of myself and did everything within my powers to remain alive at any cost. Because I'd certainly seen enough to know that if there were a higher power, it was an indifferent one. And if there were a God that was the judging type... I don't think he'd just say 'live and let live' to my slaughtering of ten thousand some people just because at the time I had been young and impetuous.

If there was something that was or resembled _Hell_, I was pretty sure I'd be going to it.

And unfortunately for the hunter standing before me, should this situation warrant it, I would kill him in a second if it meant I would live. I wasn't a martyr. Like I told Byron, I didn't plan on ever having a tombstone.

"What did you say?" The man scowled at me. I was surprised that he couldn't understand what I'd said. I'd always been of the impression that hunters knew Latin quite well.

"He said_ 'Contra felicem vix deus vires habet'_." A younger voice spoke. My eyes focused on two figures that were approaching the car. Two teenagers, it had been the younger of the two that had spoken. The other was too busy aiming his shotgun at me with a scowl on his face to match the one on the man in front of me.

I didn't have to take a wild stab in the dark to guess that these two were the man's sons.

"It means, '_Against a lucky man a god scarcely has power.'_ It's a common Latin phrase. I remember it from the Latin books I've been reading in my spare time."

A modern teenager that liked to read Latin in his free time? And here I'd thought I'd seen everything. Maybe he just wasn't very well-adjusted. His father was a hunter after all.

The man nodded to his younger son and turned to glare at me, "Quit trying to be cute and tell me what the Hell you are."

"So then you'll know how to kill me properly? I think not." I sighed, "Can't you just look at this rationally? That aswang was about to gut you like a pig. But here you are, alive and well. Free to fight another day. I'd say that it's only decent of you to let me go. I'm not a demon."

"He saved your life?" The younger boy asks while the older one is still scowling, "Then why are you trying to kill him?"

I was really starting to like this kid. Had more sense than his father.

"He was dead, and then we just woke up like nothing happened." He looked me over contemplatively, "I'm thinking sorcerer."

Maybe I could tell them a reason that would get him to relent on trying to kill me?

"Sorcerer? No, I-I uh..." I looked nervous and abashed, "I made a deal." My mind went a mile a minute trying to come up with an answer, "Crossroads demon. I can't be killed or age."

They probably wouldn't kill me for being an idiot. Right?

"Can't be killed?" He frowned, "The whole point of those deals is that when you die, you go to Hell. Why would they negate their own side of the deal within their own contract?"

Shit, I hadn't thought of that. No matter.

"I have until the end of the world. Demons are nothing, if not patient. And immortality is just as much a curse, as it is a blessing." I shrugged. That last bit is only semi-true. I loved being alive, it was just the everyone else dieing.

He lower his gun slightly, "Making a deal with a demon? That was a mighty stupid thing for you to do, son."

_Son?_

I chuckled, "I know, and I've had a long time to come to terms with that fact."

I breathed a sigh of relief when he finally lowered his gun all the way. He didn't appear to trust me much, but that was fine with me because the feeling was mutual.

"How old are you?" He asked, catching my meaning.

"Old enough."

And that was all I said, and I left it at that. I'm happy that he didn't push for anymore information than that. After that, he just seemed to look at me with pity. We both got to our feet. I dusted off my sweater and trench coat.

He held out his hand, "John Winchester." he gestured his head back toward the teens behind us, "These are my boys. Youngest is Sam, the oldest is Dean."

I take his hand and nod to the children, "Adam."

Maybe I could get out of this and back to Alexa at the hotel before she even woke up. I wanted to get out of Iowa and back on the road before sunrise and get far away from this man before he changed his mind about killing me.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer: Not mine**_

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Several years passed and I'd moved on to a new town and new name. I still kept in touch with Joe and MacLeod. More with Joe considering that he wasn't getting any younger. I don't know what I was going to do when the kid actually died. I hadn't had many close mortal friends in a long while. It was always hard, no matter how many times I'd had to experience loss.

I was a professor this time. Of history.

Which is actually harder for me to teach than you'd imagine.

I'd lived it and knew it. Unfortunately, I knew it better than the histories did and therein lied the problem. So many things were embellishments, half-truths, or just plain wrong. But I made due, I was just very careful about what I said.

And Stanford was alright. Very stuck-up and upper crust. I'd both attended and taught here before, so I'd known what I was getting into. But I'd always been a fan of pompous academia. What? Turning my nose up at people was fun!

There was a knock at my door and knowing it wasn't an Immortal after my head I continued rifling through my papers without looking up, "Come in."

I put a file away in my desk and then glanced up to see my visitor. It was certainly someone I hadn't expected to see.

I gave him a cheeky grin, "John Winchester, as I live and breathe."

"Professor Adams?" The man smirked at the name plate on my desk. I'm sure he suspected that Adam Pierson wasn't my real name either. At least he had the good sense not to ask, because I wasn't about to tell the truth.

"Not very creative, I know." I shrugged, "But simple isn't always a bad thing."

He's got gray hair now and although he hides his mental state well I noted the bags under his eyes and his slightly slumped posture. He's exhausted and distraught over something. Something he certainly isn't about to go into great detail about. I noted the tension in him and took an educated guess at what his malady was.

"So, how are your boys?"

His eyes narrow slightly at me. He'd never felt very comfortable around me because of my _'condition_' and he'd certainly never let his boys anywhere near me after our first meeting. John only came to me occasionally because I knew things others didn't and I could read languages very few people could even attempt to. I was an asset, but a barely tolerated one.

I was positive he was suspicious of my ability to read through ancient Sumerian and various dead languages like I was skimming through the Sunday Times, but he never said as much. He was a smart man and didn't look a gift horse in the mouth. I helped him and I wasn't a demon, so he could overlook not knowing exactly how old I was. I was grateful for that. Very few people knew when not to dig for information that wasn't freely given.

"How'd you know, Pierson?"

"Because I'm a _very wise, old man_." I walked over to my mini-fridge and retrieved two beers. I handed one to him and sat back down, "And because men only look like they've been steamrolled, eaten and shat out by a bear when something's going on with their children. Or because of a woman." I shrugged, "Or because they've actually been steamrolled, eaten and shat out by a bear. But that happens so rarely that it hardly bared consideration."

John gives me a gruff chuckle that was purely for my benefit and not because he actually found my words funny. He took a seat across from me and opened his beer. Mine was already open and half-drank.

"It's Sam, my youngest. He just started at Stanford."

I took in his glower, "Under normal circumstances, I'd say congratulations were in order. But I take it that's not the case?"

John doesn't say anything for a while and then just grunts in the affirmative. John's priorities had always been a little skewed, but I hardly had the right to judge.

He loved his boys, but I'm sure he saw Sam's desire for a higher education as a betrayal. I'd spoken to John enough in the past five years to understand his motivations in life. Find the 'yellow-eyed demon', kill it, and avenge his wife. Everything else in his life was put to the sidelines, even raising his boys in something resembling a stable environment.

"Do you want me to watch out for him?" I offered, figuring the reason he'd come to see me.

He nodded slowly, "Make sure he's stays out of_ 'trouble'_. I can't be here to watch him 24/7. Not that he'd let me. He's stubborn and convinced he can take care of himself."

I leaned back in my chair and chuckled to myself, "The pot calling the kettle black?"

John glared at me his voice gruff, "Shut up, Adam. Just tell me you'll do it."

He leveled me with his best military glare, like its some sort of order. It amused me greatly that he thought I was in any way intimidated by him.

"You have an odd way of asking for favors, Winchester." I finished off my beer and set it aside, "But I'll keep an eye on him. As long as you promise not to go getting yourself killed because you're so worried about protecting your boys that you don't have the presence of mind to worry about yourself."

"Says the man who only ever worries about himself."

That wasn't true! I worried about other things sometimes! I was going to watch out for Sam, wasn't I? I did think of myself first, but it was hardly my solitary concern.

I sighed, "Just remember, John: _'Live. Grow stronger. Fight another day.' _That demon isn't going anywhere. But your boys clearly are."

"Don't go lecturing me, Adam." He says gruffly then stands up, "Just watch him. That's all I want."

I relented. "Okay. Watch him. I can do that. Be seeing you, John."

"Adam."

I watched him leave and shook my head. And here I'd thought this new job was going to be relatively normal. Now I had to watch out for the son of a demon hunter? Fantastic. I was yet again blaming my desire to help this man on the Highlander. That bloody boy scout.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer: Highlander and Supernatural belong to their respective owners. Which isn't me.**_

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"Welcome to History 101: Introduction to Ancient Greece." I scrawled my name onto the board and turned back around to address the lecture hall of students, "My name is Professor Benjamin Adams. You may call me Ben. Or Adams. Or basically anything that isn't somehow in reference to my rather substantially sized nose."

There were some laughs in the crowd but most were muffled under hands. I scanned the room. Roughly 150 students. Thank God I had a TA to help with grading or I'd have no time to go to the bar.

"Your TA, Mr. Kevin Jones, is passing out your syllabus. Now, this is a freshmen course that fulfills the standard history requirement for many departments. So!" he clapped his hands together, "I am fully aware that the vast majority of you have no interest in what I am talking about. And that's perfectly alright, I get paid either way." I glanced in the back row with a smirk to see a passed out student, "So long as you would do me the courtesy of not drooling on the desks. I've been told that they're new."

I started my lecture by talking about the Neolithic periods and the Bronze age and before I knew it the 45 minutes was up. At least most of them seemed to have been paying attention.

"Alright. For next class make sure you read chapters 1-8 in your textbooks," God, I hated those trite and inaccurate 'things', "And I'll see you next week."

I was erasing the chalkboard when one of the students approached me, "Excuse me, Professor?"

I turned around to see a floppy haired freshmen looking at me expectantly.

"Yes, can I help you? Mr..?"

"Yes! My name's Sam Winchester. I'm a pre-law student. I was planning on getting my bachelor's in History and I, uh, really liked your class today." he suddenly looked very nervous, like he was overstepping his bounds, "I was wondering if you would consider being my adviser?"

This whole watching him thing might be easier than I thought, I mused.

I had met him only briefly five years ago in the middle of the night, so maybe that was why he hadn't recognized me. John had only ever met me by himself or talked over the phone.

I smiled, "Of course, Sam. It's the least I could do. Considering."

He looked completely confused, "Considering? What do you mean? Considering what?"

I'd changed my appearance slightly. I had a beard for one, which I did just because it made me look slightly older. Old enough to be a professor, which was the important thing. My haircut was slightly different too.

I laughed, "Five years ago, remember? You walked up just as your father was about to blow my head off?"

His eyes widened in shock, "_A-Adam_?"

"Present." I smirked.

"What are you doing here? Did he send you?" Sam looks almost livid at the thought.

"Did John send me? No, don't be ridiculous! I'm here because I needed a job. And history is something I happen to know a little about."

He seemed to accept that answer, but still looked mildly suspicious. Then suddenly he did a double-take from the syllabus in his hands to me.

"Wha-? Were you alive during Ancient Greece?" He looks at me in awe.

Smart kid. I needed to be careful what I said around him, apparently. I shrugged and continued to clean the chalkboard.

"Oh my God! You were!" Sam shouted out loud.

"I don't like to discuss my age, Sam. I'm like a lady in that respect." I stopped and felt the need to backtrack, "In that respect only."

"What was it like?" He asked genuinely interested.

I was really starting to like Sam. He had a thirst for knowledge that was refreshing. Maybe this whole watching him thing wasn't going to be such a pain in the ass after all. I wasn't usually so open with the fact that I was thousands of years old... but something about Sam made me want to talk about it. It was rare to find someone so interested in learning, but who wasn't an awkward social leper incapable of carrying on a normal conversation.

"Well, if anyone asks, Aristotle was a pompous ass." I winked and Sam's jaw dropped.

"You knew Aristotle!?!"

I cringed, "Could you keep it down, Sam?"

The classroom looked empty, but I didn't like to take chances.

Sam blushed, "Oh, right. Sorry."

"Anyway. Yes. I would be happy to be your adviser. So long as you try and keep the whole I'm older than I look thing to yourself?"

He nodded quickly, "Of course, Professor. Of course."

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I watched Sam. But not too hard. I hadn't heard hell or high-water from John Winchester since he came to speak to me about Sam four years ago. So, I'd gotten complacent about it. He was a good kid and certainly didn't need the amount of hand-holding John probably thought he did. And I hadn't seen anything to suggest any sort of demon activity around campus.

But then suddenly he was gone. His girlfriend was dead. A fire.

That made my gut wrench. Just like what had happened to his mother. I called Sam's cell and I didn't get an answer. I was worried, but I didn't really know what I could do about it. I called John and got no answer either. I left him a message about the fire and Sam's disappearance. After that I didn't do anything else. I was worried, but I couldn't exactly go tearing off searching for the kid. If he was in trouble, his father would take care of it. And Sam and I simply weren't that close. I helped to get him into Law School, but I wasn't about to throw myself into the fire to save him. He had family and they were equipped to help him.

At least that's what I kept telling myself.

And so, I'd moved on with my life. Until one day I got a phone call. It's been almost 4 years since Sam left Stanford.

"Professor Adams? This is Sam Winchester."

I was genuinely surprised to hear from him. I'd sort of just accepted the premise that he was dead. I'd gotten word through some of my channels that John had passed a few years prior as had Dean a few months back. I hadn't been able to bring myself to find confirm if Sam had suffered the same fate. If I had, I might have started to feel that _guilt_ thing that I hadn't felt since the 11th century.

It had been so long and hunters had such sort shelf lives compared to other mortals. I hadn't wanted to know for sure. Blissful ignorance was nice.

"Sam!" I'm sure the surprise was apparent in my voice, "Good lord, how are you?"

"Not great." Sam sounded drained. He cleared his throat and then spoke, "Do you happen to know anything about the 66 seals?"

I nearly choked on my own tongue. Of all the things he could have asked, why that?

"A _bit_." I scowled into the phone, "Why?"

I didn't think I was going to like the answer very much.

"Because they're being broken."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, "You must be joking."

He wasn't.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer: Highlander and Supernatural belong to their respective owners**_

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I laid all the texts I had on the seals of the Apocalypse out on my coffee table. I went on sick leave indefinitely. I wasn't about to be teaching anything if the world was about to end. I needed to help Sam stop this anyway I could. Because this definitely affected me.

But, I had a hard time wrapping my head around it. The actual Apocalypse. It just didn't fit with what I knew. The 66 seals... they couldn't be real. They were an invention of man.

And yes, in case you were wondering, I**_ had _**been avoiding Revelation 6:8 like the plague.

Maybe Sam and his brother were being tricked. Maybe this Castiel was a demon. That was something I was more prone to believe. But angels? I couldn't even attempt believing that. So there I was, burying myself in my books trying to make some sense out of this new... revelation.

I started laughing out loud. Oh God, I think I was finally losing it. Maybe this was me going senile.

The doorbell rang and I was broken out of my stupor. I would help Sam and Dean. Tell them what I knew (_not that part about me being Death of course. What am I? Stupid?_). I'd tell them I thought it was a crock and be done with it. Maybe I'd move to Fiji and spend my remaining days lounging on a beach with a beautiful woman. That was if the world even ended; which I doubted.

I opened the door and there was Sam. He was older in more ways the one. His eyes were less carefree. He'd clearly seen things. And his brother looked about the same if not worse. Dean, his formerly dead brother. Did I forget to mention that? Yes, Dean had been yanked out of Hell. By an _Angel_.

"Hello, Sam."

"We were in the neighborhood on a hunt and thought we'd see what you'd found." Sam said.

Sam was looking at me with a disturbed expression. I was a disheveled mess, I'm sure. I'd shaved recently at least, so I didn't look like Grizzly Adams.

"Uh, right." I looked at the shorter man as I drew a hand through my dirty matted hair trying to clean myself up at least slightly, "Hello, Dean. It's been a while, what nine years?"

Dean grunted, "And you look exactly the same. Well, except that at the moment you look like you missed the invention of the bath."

I smirked recalling what stood for hygiene in the my younger years. Best not get into it.

I shrugged, "Well come on in, then. I'll get you some beer."

I left the door open and head to the kitchen. I heard Dean whistle from the other room, "Those are some nice swords, dude."

Then I heard a loud clatter that could only be my swords falling off the wall. I rushed back, three beers in hand. Dean was standing slightly repentant by a pile of swords that had fallen on the floor; a 17th century Schiavona held in his hands.

"Those are also some very old swords. So, if you could be careful."

I carefully retracted the Schiavona sword from Dean's hands and set it off to the side. I collected the others and set them on the table along with it. I'd put them back up later.

Dean looked at me defiantly, clearly not liking my tone. He was the one who'd knocked my swords off the wall, so I don't know what he's so angry at me for. I glared back and shoved the beer in his hands, "Try not to break anything."

He gritted his teeth and then took a seat next to Sam who was already rifling through my books.

"Wow, Ben. Some of these books are over 500 years old!" He was flipping through the earliest version of the Apocrypha I had in my collection.

"Good thing I'm a pack rat." I smirked at Dean's ever widening eyes. Clearly Sam hadn't filled him in quite that much.

"You're over 500 years old?" He didn't look convinced, "You?" Dean gestured at my food stained knit sweater and jeans skeptically.

"He's older than that, Dean. He knew Aristotle." Sam shook his head at his older brother and returned to his book.

Dean looked at me like I have some infectious disease. He was a hunter, so it's pretty much expected. The fact that John grudgingly accepted me and Sam seemed to like me, were both miracles in and of themselves. I guess my luck with the Winchesters had run out by the time I reached Dean.

I ignored him and sat directly across from Sam, "Are you two sure this is really the 66 seals being broken? And not this Castiel person pulling your leg?"

"Positive." Dean said, matter of factly.

"But... Angels?" I ask with obvious skepticism, "Really?"

"Are you deaf?" Dean growled out, "We're positive."

I shook my head for what felt like the hundredth time, "If you say so."

I found it hard to think that Angels could exist when I'd lived in a time before they were ever even written of or spoken of. It made no sense. Demons I could handle, but Angels... that was different.

The things in the Bible? They were different. Because I knew for a fact that the Horsemen written about in Revelation weren't from Hell and they weren't going to ride out after the seals were broken. They were a group of four Immortals that had terrorized the Bronze age, nothing more. They were a frightening story mother's would tell their children. They were a story that had found it's way into a religion as so often happened with stories that were retold from generation to generation.

This wasn't happening. They had to be wrong.

I got up to grab another beer, "These are all the books I could find on the subject. I've bookmarked every reference to the seals I could find. I even have a few non-Christian texts that relay versions of the Apocalypse. I hope that helps."

"It does. Thank you, Professor." Sam looked at him, genuinely thankful.

I left him to his reading and went to sit out on the porch. I needed to clear my head.

It was about an hour later when Dean Winchester walked out to the porch to join me. He was silent for a long while and I made no attempt at breaking that silence. I was listening to the calming sound of the crickets when he finally opened his mouth.

"I made a deal with a crossroads demon to save Sam's life. The catch was I would die in a year."

I felt a silent pang. One year. _Alexa._

I smirked remembering what John Winchester had said to me nine years back, "That was a mighty stupid thing to do, son."

"Cute." He chuckled lightly, "Anyway, I know you don't believe this. And I was pretty skeptical too, at first. But it's real." He stared up at the stars, "And I've been to Hell. I don't want that shit to leak out to the world. The Devil, Hell on Earth... it can't happen."

"If it's real, then I agree with you, Dean. Because if it does I'll die right along with the rest of the human race. I have a stake in this. But, I just... it just doesn't make sense with what I know." I tried to explain but was having little success at it.

"And what do you know?" Dean sipped from a newly opened beer he must have grabbed from my fridge before coming out here.

I looked over to Dean with a sobered expression, "I'm very, very _old,_ Dean."

"Oh? How old?" He does a very good job of not looking interested.

I needed him to understand, and if that meant telling him more than I should... I guess that's what I would do.

"I lived in a time before Christianity. A time before Angels and the Bible. I met Jesus and his apostles. He was a nice man, but the son of God? Or God himself, in some versions? I don't know about that..."

Dean's eyes are locked on him he looks flabbergasted, "You met Jesus? As in Jesus, Jesus?"

"No, Jesus Rodriguez at the auto repair down the road." I rolled my eyes, "Yes, _the_ Jesus of Nazareth. But that's not the point, kid. I just can't believe that the 66 seals are real. They can't be real."

"Why not?" Dean pressed.

"Revelation. The Four Horsemen." I really shouldn't be telling him this much, I knew it was a bad idea... but I was committed now.

"What about them?"

"There were men who called themselves the Horsemen. During the Bronze Age. They murdered thousands, pillaged villages over two continents. They were what was spoke of in the Bible. Living breathing men. Not literal creatures from Hell."

Dean crossed him arms, "Maybe they weren't the same ones mentioned in the Bible? Maybe they were copy-cats?"

I sighed, "No. It was them."

"And what makes you so positive?" Dean asks, still not in the least bit convinced.

"Because he was one of them."

I spun around to find the owner of the monotone voice. A man in a trench coat standing there staring at me, expressionless. He sent an uncomfortable chill down my spine.

Dean's face flitted back and forth from me to the man, "Cas, what do mean: 'He was one of them'?"

"Cas? As in Castiel? The Angel?" My eyes widen and I backed up slowly. The supposed Angel is staring at me. Luckily he hasn't decided to smite me or whatever Angels do.

Maybe this was all a dream. It was the only explanation that made any sense. Angels did not figure into the world I knew. But maybe... maybe I might be having to alter my world view. It wouldn't have been the first time.

"Yes, I am Castiel. An Angel of the Lord." He stepped toward me, and I'm silently cursing myself for leaving my Ivanhoe in the house. Although I doubted it would do much good, but everyone has their security blankets.

"Uh, hello. Pleasure to meet you. I'm Ben Adams." I didn't hold out my hand. I really didn't want to touch him.

"No, you're not." Castiel's eyes bore into mine like he was seeing into my very core. He probably was, come to think of it, which wasn't exactly doing wonders for my calm... no telling what he'd see in there.

"I am now. That's all that matters."

"Does it?" Castiel looked curious.

"Yes." I growled out.

"What's going on, Cas? Who is he?" Dean was reaching for the knife in the back of this pants and looking ready to gut me at a moment's notice. I feel so loved.

"He is _Death_."

I paled.

And yes, the irony of that does not escape me.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Disclaimer: Don't own, I don't sue me, I have no money._**

_A/n: Thanks for the reviews guys, I appreciate it! :)_

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I'm tied up before I know what's happening. I struggled, sure, but a gun to the head and an Angel's vice like grip around your shoulders made sufficient deterrent for escape. Luckily Castiel hadn't decided to kill me just yet. Why that was, I wasn't not entirely sure, but I was certainly grateful.

"He's Death?" Sam asks skeptically, "You've _got_ to be kidding me. Let him go, guys. This isn't funny."

Did I mention that I really liked Sam?

I didn't have much I could say to these three, so I'd opted for silence. While strapped to the chair, I was once again reminded of the fact that I would never have even been in this situation if not for trying to save John Winchester's life. This was all the Highlander's fault. If I got killed, I was haunting his ass.

"He was a Horsemen who called himself Death thousands of years ago." Castiel responded watching me carefully, "And he is also the vessel for the true Horseman Death should he be freed into this plane of existence."

That couldn't be true, could it? Shit, if it was, I didn't want anything to do with it. This was my body, dammit! I'd worked long and hard to keep it, thank you very much.

Dean was fidgeting with the trigger of his shotgun and glaring at me, "So what? That whole story about the crossroads demon, that was a load of horseshit?"

I stared back at him, "It's complicated."

"Uncomplicate it." Dean growled.

I sighed and shifted under my restraints, "I'd rather not. Look, kiddies this has been fun, but..."

Dean shoved his gun to my temple, "Maybe I just kill you right now and then Death won't have any vessel to inhabit, huh?"

"Dean!" Sam shot up from his spot by the wall.

The supposed Angel put a hand on the barrel easing it away from my skull, making me eternally grateful.

"Even if you successfully kill him, Dean, the Devil will only resurrect his soul and body when the seals are broken." He looked toward me calculating, "In fact, killing him will only serve to make it easier for the demons to find him."

This was beyond ridiculous.

My mind was going a mile a minute, "Certainly you can't expect me to believe this! What about the others? Kronos, Caspian, Silas...?"

"They are dead, yes. But should the unthinkable happen, they will be resurrected as vessels for War, Famine, & Pestilence. Just as you would, should we kill you." Castiel replied with monotone rigidity.

I scoffed, "This is just so... insane! Angels aren't real! I was alive before Yahweh was even thought up! Clearly you are mistaken!"

"Yahweh? Who the hell is that?" Dean scowled.

I rolled my eyes, my patience running thin. "For someone who's fighting to stop the Biblical Apocalypse, you certainly don't seem to know much about it. If this is the brain-trust at the helm for saving the world, it's clearly screwed."

Sam frowned, "Yahweh is the name of God in the Hebrew Bible."

I nodded, "I'm impressed, Sam. You always were one of my best students. And that's saying a lot considering how many I've taught..."

"So, what do we do with him, Cas?" He shoved the barrel of his gun into my head, "Lock him up somewhere where Lilith can never find him?"

I scoffed, "Dean, has it ever occurred to you that I don't want anyone taking over my body any more than you do?"

He sneered at me, "But you're evil. A monster. You killed people."

My anger rose, "You don't know a thing about me, Dean."

He lowered his gun and grabbed me by the collar of my sweater, "I know enough!"

I growled, "You know, as hunters, you're hardly in a position to judge. I've seen hunter handy work over the years. And it was three thousand years ago. Things change. People_ change_. I changed."

"You're not a person." He was in my face now.

"Dean, maybe he's telling the truth..." Sam murmured.

"No! He'd say anything to get us to let him go! He's a killer and if we can't kill him we can at least lock him up!" He's shaking now.

Dean seemed more angry at me than was warranted. I was starting to think he was channeling his anger at me over something else entirely. My eyes widened when I saw the fist coming in the direction of my face. I made a quick jerk to the left to avoid it and Dean's weight was thrown off kilter and he stumbled into me knocking my chair to the ground. This also caused him to land on top of me. The chair shattered below me, freeing me from the ropes.

I groaned and Dean shoved himself off of me, kicking me in the side as he got to his feet. Sam came up next to me and helped me up, but had his gun pointed at me in his other hand. I sighed.

"There's really no need for that, Sam." I rolled my shoulder and cracked my neck, "Like I've been trying to say, I could help you boys. I'm not the enemy. I happen to like the world the way it is. My body being taken from me isn't a pleasant notion either. "

"I don't believe you." Dean spat.

I glared at him unable to conceal my condescension, "I get this distinct impression that your hostility has very little to do with me and more to do with something else. I'd appreciate if you didn't take your problems out on me."

"I'll do whatever I like, shit head!" He came at me again before Sam could stop him.

Acting on instinct I sidestepped his rather clumsy attack and grabbed his arm shoving him against the wall. He struggled to free himself using some well-learned self defense techniques. Unfortunately for him, my age and experience counted for a lot and he failed to break free.

He cursed and spat at me, and soon I felt the butt of Sam's shotgun press into the back of my skull.

"Let him go, Ben." Sam spoke coolly, in a darker tone than I'd ever heard from Sam before. It had me worried.

I sighed. "So, I guess that makes it all three Winchesters who've put pressed a gun to my head. Got any other relatives who want a shot at it too?"

I released Dean with a shove. He turned around looking ready to go at me again. I leveled him with a glare I'd perfected during my time as Death which stopped Dean dead in his tracks.

"Do yourself a favor and don't try it again. I liked your father and I like Sam, but push me and I can't be held responsible for the consequences."

"_Methos._"

My eyes snapped up to find Castiel standing very close to me. And I found myself..._ small_ under his gaze. It was not a feeling I was used to.

It made me want to flee the country and join some nomadic tribe in the Alps where maybe he couldn't find me. But he was an Angel, so he could probably find me anywhere. I'd have to look into cloaking enchantments or spells when I had the time.

Castiel's head tilted to look at me thoughtfully and somewhat in awe, "You are not what I expected, Horseman. I knew of your actions long ago. And so I expected nothing but evil within you." he frowned, "It is there... but muted. Not all that you are."

"Shades of gray," I shrugged, trying to act nonchalant under his level stare.

Castiel looked confused, so I clarified. Clearly Angels were the black and white type. I wasn't surprised.

"I've saved lives, probably not more than I've taken, but still. I've been a doctor more times than I can count. I fought in the American Civil War to free slaves. Oh, and I helped stop Kronos from releasing a toxin that would have killed millions a few years back." I crossed my arms, "So actually, I guess I have saved more lives than I taken! But you didn't focus on that, did you, Castiel? You went right for the worst thing I ever did. Something that, I should note, I did three thousand years ago and have done everything in my power to move past."

Castiel seemed to take it all in, while Dean still looked pissed but I wasn't expecting to win that man over easily. Sam had lowered his gun to his side.

I ran a hand through my messy hair, "I may not be a great person. Hell, I may not even be a good person. But I'm not evil. I just..." I sighed, "I'm a _survivor_. I do whatever I have to in order to stay alive."

Dean scowled at me, "And so you'll help us, but only to save your own sorry ass?"

"Oh, there are other reasons, Dean. I'm not entirely self-serving..." I grinned at him, "But I am mostly... _yeah._"


	6. Chapter 6

_**Disclaimer: Kripke and Widen own Supernatural and Highlander respectively. **_

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"I still don't trust him, Sammy." Dean grumbled pacing around the motel room. I could hear him continue complaining while I finished showering in the rundown bathroom. The tiles were cracked and gray. And the amount of mold in here would probably have made a health inspector shit himself.

This was insane. Traveling with two hunters trying to stop the _Apocalypse._ With the help of an Angel to boot. Why had I thought this was a good idea?

Oh right, probably because I'd been left with few other choices. Dean had wanted to keep me prisoner and Sam had been able to talk him down to this more reasonable arrangement.

I mean... I _did_ want to help them, sort of... even if I didn't appreciate being forced.

Unfortunately Dean was just looking for an excuse to kill me. And Sam? Well, Sam had grown somewhat cold to me upon realizing the extent to which I'd lied to him. Hate and disappointment. I wasn't particularly fond of either emotion, but I preferred Sam's disappointment over Dean's blind hatred. People were less likely to chop your head off because they were disappointed in you.

And then there was Castiel.

The Angel looked at me as something of a curiosity that much I could tell, but it was hard for me to read him entirely. I was a student of human nature, not _Angel_ nature. He might be seconds away from smiting me should I say something wrong. It was unsettling, to say the least. I could only count my lucky stars that he wasn't a constant fixture on this little road trip, or I'd be as jumpy as a whore in church.

"Just give him a chance, Dean. He helped out dad, didn't he?"

Dean growled and I heard the door to the motel open, "I'm going out. You can babysit Dr. Death. Me? I need a drink."

The door slammed shut and I rolled my eyes. If he kept calling me that, I may just consider showing him the full side of that certain persona of mine. He wouldn't like to be on my bad side then. Finishing up in the bathroom with a quick shave, I pulled on my clean set of jeans and t-shirt and wandered into the room where Sam sat glued to his laptop. He looked up at me and his eyes widened at my cleaned up attire and fully shaved face.

"Wow, you look so... _young_."

"Sam, flattery will get you... _everywhere_." I grinned and he snorted and went back to his computer screen.

I went toward the shoddy little pull out cot that was to be my bed. Dean had refused to let either Sam or himself share a bed with me. It didn't bother me as much as I think Dean had intended it to. I was unaffected by his hostility at the moment, because it was an empty gesture that hadn't yet shifted back to trying to kill me in my sleep. And if he was thought we was going to make me feel guilty, the young man was going to be sorely disappointed.

Sam looked uncomfortable for a moment before opening his mouth again, "So... you never said how that is. You weren't cursed by a crossroads demon. But you can't die. Why? Is it because you're the vessel for Death?"

I shrugged, "I got killed when I was young. Trampled by a camel. And then I just got... _better_. I don't know the reason. I don't age. I get killed and then I come right back."

No reason to bring the other Immortals into the picture. The last thing I needed was it getting out to other hunters about the Immortals and their _Game_.

Sam rose an eyebrow, "Trampled by a camel?"

I shrugged, "I was shoveling camel dung for the family fires, slipped in it, and the damned camel stepped on my head." I gave him by best self-deprecating smile, "Then, I woke up to the sight of the camel eating it's own poo."

"Now, I know you're just pulling my leg." Sam rolled his eyes.

I did my best to look wounded by the accusation.

"But the other Horsemen, they were like you, weren't they? But they're dead." Sam wondered aloud.

"You're too curious for your own good, Sam." I rubbed my temple, "_Yes_, they were killed."

"How?" Sam asked clearly not seeing how this line of questioning might make me somewhat uncomfortable.

I cleared my throat, "Uh, Sam.... don't take this the wrong way, but I'm not going to tell you."

The young man frowned, "What? I'm not going to gank you, if that's what you're worried about. I was just curious." He snapped his fingers thoughtfully, "I'll bet it's _decapitation_!" I kept my features level, "Most things don't survive that.."

"Yes. well. As much fun as this rousing game of '_Guess How To Best Kill Methos'_ is... I'm really rather hungry would you like to--"

The door slammed open and a blur of brunette hair flew through it. The short spitfire of a woman started talking before she'd even made it all the way through the door.

"Sam, we need to talk about Lilith! She's gaining strength and--" she stopped dead in her tracks when she saw she wasn't alone with Sam, "Who's he?"

"Oh, this is--" Sam started and I quickly interceded before he gave this mystery woman more information that I was comfortable with her having.

"Name's Ben. Friend of Sam's, his old history professor. Specialize in biblical histories, religions, etc," I morphed into my practiced persona of an academic. The lies flew from my mouth like silk, "I'm going to be helping Sam and Dean sort out this whole 66 seals business." I shuddered, "Nasty stuff, isn't it?"

She sneered at me, as I assessed her covertly. She didn't spend much time on eye contact with me. They were darting away before I could read too much into them. Her gait was forcefully laid back and not at all genuine. There was a sense of urgency about her that made me instantly suspicious. I had her pegged as a threat at nearly the same moment she'd dismissed me as one.

"Sam." her voice was shrill and whiny, and it grated against my nerves, "I'll come by later when you're alone. Okay?"

"Okay, Ruby." Sam nods suddenly looking tired and withdrawn.

There's something going on there and I don't know what it could be. And that bothers me. Just who was this pushy self-important bitch? She turned to glare at me to indicate that she clearly didn't appreciate my presence and stormed out of the room.

I cleared my throat and commented wryly, "_Nice girl_."

"Um, yeah." Sam looked uncomfortable, "That was Ruby. She's... uh, she's a demon."

I choked in surprise, "W-What!?! Are you crazy? Thank God I stopped you from telling her about me. Are you really that stupid? A demon?"

Sam looked at me with a scowl, "God, you sound like Dean! She's helping us! She's saved my life. Ruby's on our side."

I laughed, "Sam, let me tell you something. Demons are on their own side, no one else's. She has an angle. I can feel it in my gut. And my instincts have served me pretty well over the years, let me tell you. And if she didn't have an ulterior motive, why was she so cagey around me? I was unknown and it threw her off her stride."

Sam got really angry all of a sudden, getting out of his seat. "That's rich, coming from you, Ben! Or should I call you Methos? Death? How can I trust someone whose lies flow just as easily from their mouths as the truth! You're a Horsemen of the Apocalypse for Christ-sake! Why should I trust you, if I can't trust a demon who saved my life?"

He was seething with rage now, and I was getting worried. I'd never seen this side of Sam before and it had me unsettled. There was something seriously wrong with the kid and I needed to find out what.

"Sam, that's just it! You shouldn't trust me!" Sam's rage suddenly deflated. That clearly wasn't the answer that he'd expected from me. I continued, "In fact you're probably better off not trusting anyone right now. And I'm may be a smug git who only looks out for himself, but at least I've freely admitted it to you! I know something is going on between you and that demon. All I'm saying is, don't take it at face value. Because whatever it is... it may not be what you think. Something dark is going on within you and I get the sense that she might be a part of it." The surprised expression on Sam's face told me that I was right on the money, "Something's off with you. And I've seen that look on my own face enough times to know that it smells trouble."

Sam's eyes widened and it seemed that I may have gotten at least a little bit through to him. He smiled lightly as he shook his head, "For claiming to be someone who only looks out for himself, you certainly seem to go out of your way to help me."

"Do I? _Huh._" I sniffed, "Guess I'll have to stop doing that." I threw on my trench-coat and headed toward the door with Sam alongside me, "I don't want to go ruining my image."


	7. Chapter 7

_**Disclaimer: Blah blah not mine, blah blah. Kripke and Widen are awesome, etc.**_

**_A/n_**: Thanks for the reviews, favorites, and everyone reading. :) If you have any comments, or suggestions about things you'd like to see feel free to write a review and let me know. Gracias.

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A town were no one died. It was an intriguing prospect to say the least.

The boys had ruled out a spell and the ever popular crossroad demon theory, and we were left with only one remaining idea. There was no one around to take the lives that should shuffling this mortal coil.

"Ugh,_ Reapers_." I shuddered as we continued to set up the seance at the grave of the last person to die in the town. It had been a little boy named Cole Griffiths.

"Yeah, you said that already." Dean muttered.

"Yes, and it bared repeating. Do you think I could sit this one out, maybe? There was a Star Trek marathon on one of the local channels here. I could watch it back at the motel..." I suggested hopefully.

"Star Trek? God, who knew Death was such a_ tool._ You're worse than Sammy." Dean muttered to which Sam gave a protesting, "Hey!"

Dean glared back at me, "And _no_, we're keeping you where we can see you. Don't want you running off to join Lilith."

I decided not to go into the fact that if I'd wanted to leave I would have done so days ago. They may have been very adept hunters, but I was one slippery son of a bitch when I wanted to be. I was invested in seeing that the seals being broken were put to a stop because I didn't see these two geniuses pulling it off with out help. I also didn't want to see them get killed. That would also be unfortunate.

"Ah, my dastardly plan thwarted once again by the ever vigilant Dean Winchester!" I gave him an _'aww shucks'_ gesture laced with my patented sarcasm.

I caught a glimpse of Sam smiling and shaking his head at me from the other side of the grave before bending down to grab the herbs to set around the grave.

We set our shovels down and Dean let out a sigh, "Are you sure we're doing the right thing, here? I mean we do this and everything goes back to normal. All those people who should be dead..."

"I don't want them to die either, Dean. But there's a natural order..."

I cringed. Hated that _'natural order'_ thing. Made my forming of relationships a real bitch. And hell, I'd been running from the natural order dilemma my entire life. Maybe Dean had a point.

"Come on, Sam! You and me-- and hell, especially this douche-nozzle here," he jabbed a finger at me, while I made a face and mouthed the words '_douche-nozzle_' with a questioning frown, "we're like the poster children for the unnatural order. All we do is ditch death."

"But the normal rules don't really apply to us, do they?" Sam countered.

Dean laughed, "You and me are no different than anybody else."

I noticed that he excluded me from that statement, causing me to chuckle absently to myself. Dean's attempts to make me feel unwanted and guilty had been annoying at the beginning, but now I just found them insanely amusing.

Dean glared daggers at me, to which I returned it with an unaffected grin.

"I'm infected with demon blood, you've been to Hell, Ben is the vessel for Death himself..." Sam went on, "I know you want to think of yourself as Joe the Plumber... but you're _not_."

I went back to preparing the seance while they continued to argue among themselves.

Moments later I heard approaching foot falls. As I glanced up, my hand slid into my coat for the reassuring weight of my blade at my fingertips. It appeared to be the groundskeeper and I relaxed slightly. He accused us of devil worship, to which Sam chuckled nervously and told him that we were just leaving.

The man's face became harder and my alert level shot up to blazing red.

"You're not going anywhere....ever again, Sam." He took a step toward the younger Winchester and I shifted toward the brothers ready to protect them. There I went again, being all caring and boy-scoutesque. Stupid Macloed.

The man's eyes flashed and turned white as a malevolent grin covered his face.

"_Alastair_." Dean named the demon with disdain.

The one who'd tortured Dean in Hell? That was interesting. And very very bad.

He grinned, "Anyway, no time to chat, got a date with--"

I unsheathed my sword catching the undivided attention of the demon. Perhaps not the best choice, considering.

"--You?" Alastair burst out laughing, "Oh me, oh my! Boys, boys, boys! You certainly have the most interesting friends!" He seemed completely unfazed by the sword I currently had leveled at his chest.

Dean went at Alastair from behind and Alastair simply flung him into a tombstone with a flick of his wrist. The demon's attention never leaving me.

His grin spread even further practically reaching his ears and held out his hand to me, "It is an_ honor._"

I returned his dark smile, "Pleased to meet your acquaintance."

I brought my sword up then down in a quick arching motion intended to cut him in half. Clearly he'd been expecting the move and used his extended hand to put my arm in his vice like grip, "Going to have to do better than that, old boy."

"If you insist." the knife slid from my sleeve, and in a swift practiced motion I slammed the blade up into his skull. The hilt caught his jaw halting the knife's advance to his brain.

Alastair let out a gurgle of surprise and I took a step back. Only suddenly... I found myself quite incapable of movement. I was stuck and vulnerable, at the mercy of Alastair. Panic set in.

"Shit."

Slowly Alastair pried the knife out from his jaw. Blood and gore dripped from the knife as he tested the torn jaw muscles of his borrowed body, his voice was raspy and haggard from the inflicted damage, "T-that..was...very..._rude_."

Then my knife flew from his hand and right into my chest. I was thrown back several feet before slamming into a tree. As I slowly drifted off I saw Sam standing before the demon unaffected by Alastair's attempts to injure him. There was black smoke everywhere when I finally blacked out.


	8. Chapter 8

**_Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or Highlander. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fanfic, I'd be swimming around in my vast sums of money._**

**_A/n: Hmm... not been many reviews. But the ones I've gotten have been flattering. So thanks for that. I don't like to beg for reviews... but I'm not above it so.. Plllleeeaasseee? Pretty please? With a cherry on top? ;)_**

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Something was up with Sam. Both Dean and I knew it, not that we were about to talk about it with each other. Alastair hadn't been able to even budge Sam, but could fling Dean and I around like rag-dolls.

Then, out of nowhere the their friend Bobby called about some arcane version of Revelations. It stated if a Reaper was killed under a Solstice moon, which was tonight (_surprise, surprise_), another seal would be broken.

I smelled a rat.

I sat down at the edge of Dean's bed with a huff, "I've never heard of that version of Revelation. I find that... _odd._ Don't you find that _odd_?"

"Right, I forgot. You're the Revelations expert, _Death_." Dean spoke, his voice laced with spite. He was looking up at me from his spot at the bed, an ice pack over his injured head. He kicked me in the back, "And get off my bed, asshole."

I stood up from the bed and gave him a long suffering sigh.

"I'm just saying, Dean-- and I'm not being cocky about this, just honest--I know _**a lot **_about the Bible. In all its forms. Dammit, I was around when the books were first written. Hell, I was _in_ Nicea when Constantine formed the First Council to decide what was canon." They failed to looked as impressed as I felt they clearly should have... but I digress. "And then this Bobby of yours comes out of left field with this arcane Revelations text that I've never even heard of? I just think it's--_ like I said_-- odd. And awfully convenient considering the time frame of this little seal breaking."

"Smug bastard." Dean mumbled, "Bobby found a text that you don't know about, its not like that's the end of the world." He cringed, "Eh, well.. poor choice of words."

"Fine. Whatever. Don't listen to me. Just something for you to keep in mind." I gave up trying to convince him of my well-spring of knowledge. Oh, the folly of youth.

"So, what's the plan?" Dean looked over to Sam expectantly.

Sam shrugged, "We-ell, we need to find the Reapers... and you can only see a Reaper if your dead or dying..."

Dean sat up and repositioned his ice pack, "Hmm, well if only ghosts can see Reapers... we'll become ghosts."

I was hating this plan already.

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"There is no way in _Hell_ I'm doing that!" I protested, "Tell you what, I'll stay here. You go play ghost hunters and I'll make sure Pamela here doesn't take advantage of you two in your sleep."

Dean scoffed, "_Coward._"

If he thought he could insult me into complying, he clearly didn't understand me very well. "Yes! Exactly!" I nodded emphatically, "What's your point?"

The recently blinded psychic, Pamela Barnes, laughed loudly from behind me, "I like him. He's clearly smarter than you two idiots."

"See? She likes me! We'll be perfectly content here while you go off and astral project your little hearts out!"

Dean gritted his teeth, "Pam?"

"Yeah, Chachi?" She looked toward his general location as she couldn't see him.

"Will you be okay with him here?" I didn't miss the undercurrent of his meaning. Pam could read me, she knew if I could be trusted not to kill them in their sleep.

"Oh, he's fine." she gave Dean a dismissive shake of her hand, "Me and the old man will be just dandy all by ourselves. You two on the other hand..."

She looked over toward me. I had the odd feeling the I was being sized up sexually by a woman who could only see me with her mind and not her actual eyes. And I found I was... _curious. _

"Well, I could think of worse ways to pass the time." I waggled my eyebrows.

"You can quit staring at my chest now, babe." She smirked at me coyly, "Although I _am_ flattered."

I lifted my eyes upward from said chest and grinned at her.

"Oh, God! Please don't do what I think you are thinking of while we're sleeping right here!" Dean whined.

Pam turned toward the boys, "Back to the point, hotshots. Even if you do get behind the veil and find that Reaper... how the hell are you going to save it? You'll be _ghosts_. Defenseless walking pieces of_ fog_. You won't be able to touch or move anything."

"Ah, thank you, Pamela. You've just described perfectly the reasons why I didn't want to be a part of this little field trip." I leaned against the wall and looked over at the Winchesters, "This is a terrible plan, fraught with error. You could get yourselves killed. More than likely, you will."

"Like you care." Dean scoffed.

I rolled my eyes, "I may not like you very much, but that doesn't mean I'd like to see you dead."

He looked skeptical, so I threw my hands up in the air in frustration.

"Dammit, Dean! If I wanted you dead, you'd be _dead_! It's something I happen to be very good at. A fact that you seem to love to keep reminding me of."

He growled and looked ready to retort when Sam interjected, "Pam, I seem to remember us getting the crapped kicked out of us by ghosts all the time."

Pam sighed, "Yeah, that's because they had plenty of time to practice."

"Then we better start cramming." Dean responded coolly.

"Alright. Fine. Just lay down. And let's get started." Pam patted the bed and got ready to start the ritual.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue me**_

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After a few minutes of chanting the Winchesters were out like a light.

I sat back in my chair next to Pam and clapped my hands together mischievously, "Alright! You grab the permanent markers and I'll get the bowls of warm water."

My evil grin was returned by her, "I like the way you think."

She stood up and spoke to the thin air to Sam and Dean who were now, hopefully, astral projecting to tell them what they had to do. After than was done she came over and pulled her chair closer to mine.

"So, tell me about yourself, Ben." She took off her sunglasses setting them on the table to reveal her white sightless pupils underneath them. This, apparently, had been done to her by Castiel when she'd tried to look upon his true form. I hated to think what he could do to me if he chose to. Here's hoping he never chose to, so I never had to find out.

I was aware that Pam knew more than she let on, what with the_ 'old man' _comment from before and her knowing grin now, but I crossed my arms giving a shrug; a pointless gesture as she could not see it, "Nothing to tell."

"Nothing you want to tell, you mean." She crossed her arms to match mine.

"Wow. You _ARE_ psychic." I said with mock amazement.

There was an amused twitch at the corners of her lips, "You're not completely human, I can tell that much. And you're... _old_. Ancient. Do the boys know?"

She didn't seem in the least bit threatened by me despite the confession. I wondered what she saw in me because apparently it had been enough for her not to see me as dangerous. Or Hell, maybe she just wasn't all that bright.

"They know more than I'd like." I admitted solemnly.

She accepted the answer and continued, "So, what's up with Grumpy? Something's off about him. I don't like it."

"Grumpy? You mean Sam?" I looked over at his sleeping form, "I'm not sure. I know it's something bad. And I don't like it either." I acknowledged.

"You care about him, don't you?" Pam smiled at me knowingly, but the way she said it made it sound dirty. I certainly didn't care for him like _that_.

"He's a bright kid, and I don't like what this life has done to him. I don't like what it did to his father either. Hunters always seem to get into the life strictly for revenge sake. Sam & John, especially. And revenge like that blinds you--" I cringed, remembering who I was talking to, "poor metaphor, I apologize-- but... I suppose what I'm trying to say is: with revenge clouding you like that, you wind up so focused on the goal, you miss what's important. You might miss that your doing something wrong. That something's not right with the path you're taking. For John, the goal was Azazel. And so he missed out on raising his boys. For Sam, it's Lilith. And I can't help but wonder what it is that he's missing because of it."

She sat there staring at me with her emotive yet completely nonfunctional eyes. Then Pam rose an eyebrow, "Are you speaking from experience here, Ben? Have you sought revenge on someone before?"

"Oh...yes." I nodded emphatically, "Very much so. And it was never as satisfying as I'd imagined it would be. Probably why I gave it up."

"Smart & sexy." she licked her lips at me, "Tell you what? You ever find yourself in Illinois, you look me up."

"I like the way you think, Pam."

* * *

I was in the bathroom when I heard Pamela's voice from the other room, "Old man?"

I heard the tension in her voice and stood ramrod straight, my sword slid into my hand before I'd even reached the door.

"Yes?" I opened the door quickly to see Pam locking the outside door, uneasily.

"I think...I think someone's here." She felt around and headed in the direction of my voice.

I advanced toward her quickly, pulling her to my side for protection. Pamela was scared, but took the moment to slide her hand down my backside anyway. "I didn't take you as one for chivalry, handsome." she purred.

"I'm not, usually. But for you I'll make an exception." I commented, my eyes still scanning the room."Do you still sense someone?"

"Yes." She tensed next to me.

I stretched my own senses out falling into a defensive posture, "Wait here."

I directed her between the beds holding the sleeping forms of Dean & Sam. My sword held out in front of me, I began searching the room, "Come out, come out, wherever you are."

I glanced quickly into the bathroom and turned around just as I saw the large demon rushing toward Pamela.

"Pam!"

Pam tried to scramble away, but the demon grabbed her arm. Letting out a battle cry I hurdled over Dean's bed and tackled the man, slamming both of us into the dresser. She was able to break free and rushed to Sam's side to recite the incantation to wake him up.

The demon growled and spat as I reared back my sword swung toward his neck. The demon brought up an arm to protect it's head causing my Ivanhoe to sheer the man's hand in half. He howled and grabbed me by my shirt with his good hand and flung me to the ground. My sword clattered helplessly next to me out of reach.

I really sucked at this whole demon hunting gig, apparently. I wished the Winchesters would have just let me stay out of this one. Of course, if they had, Pam would probably be shish kabobbed by now. And I quite liked her company. He pulled out a knife and thinking quickly I jabbed my fingers in his eyes.

A little Three Stooges, I know. But hey, whatever works, right?

He howled in pain and I scrambled to my feet, just as Sam shot to his and lifted his hand out toward the demon. My eyes widened in shock as I saw the demon suddenly freeze. Agonizing pain swept throw his body and then smoke started to pour out of his mouth. Then the man collapsed. My eyes flashed back to Sam, and he looked... malevolent. It was all wrong. It reminded me of the evil I'd seen in Macloed after receiving that Dark Quickening. That much malice did not belong on the face of someone I knew to normally be so righteous.

"Sam?" I breathed out, stepping over the corpse of the previously possessed man toward him "What the _Hell _was that?"


	10. Chapter 10

_**Disclaimer: Highlander & Supernatural don't belong to me. I'm making no money off of this.**_

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Sam wouldn't talk to me about what happened and I was starting to get uncomfortable. This had to have something to do with Ruby. I just knew it did. Pamela had expressed the same concern as well before she'd gone off back home. She had a few words with Sam in private that I hadn't been privy to, but she'd told me to keep my eyes on him. She knew as well as I did that he was heading to a dark place. His intentions may have been good, but I don't know that he understood what he was doing to himself in the process.

He was infected with demon blood and that was the source of his powers. The fact alone should have been enough of a clue for the kid to know that this wasn't going to end well.

"What's got your knickers in a twist, Sunshine?" Dean asked roughly as he took a seat across from me in the booth, setting his rather large hamburger down in front of him. He'd grudgingly accepted when I'd asked if he'd wanted to go get a beer. Dean took a rather large bite of his burger and looked up at me expectantly.

The youngest Winchester had been avoiding talking to me about what had happened. I wasn't one to push, usually, but this was serious. I'd been starting to weigh my options. Sam was my friend. And he was the only friend I had in my current situation, so I didn't want to get on his bad side. Because if everyone hated me they might decide locking me up was the more logical solution to deal with me. But I had to do something.

I took a sip of my Chimay Grand Reserve and set it to the side.

"I'm worried about Sam." I leaned back in the booth and sighed, "And I know you are too."

He glared at me, "Let me worry about, Sam. You can mind your own damn business."

"Dean." I chastised, "This _is_ my business. You two have dragged me along with you and I can't just sit idly by when I see Sam going down a path that..."

"I said: _Let me worry about Sam_." He growled at me and went back to his burger.

I ran my hands down my face in frustration, "I getting really sick of your attitude, Dean. If we can't talk about Sam, could we at least talk about why you hate me so much?"

"I thought it was rather obvious, _Death_."

"No, that's why you say you hate me. It's your excuse." I crossed my arms, "The _reason_ is different. You're angry about something, someone. It's not me, but I'm the easiest and most available target."

He threw his sandwich down onto the plate, "I am not about to have a heart to heart with a freakin' Horseman of the Apocalypse!"

I tapped my chin thoughtfully, "So, it about you, then. You're angry at yourself. That's interesting."

"Who do you think you are, Sigmund Freud? Lay off the psycho-analyzing bull-crap." Dean reached for his burger again and bit into it with a fervor like he was taking his anger out on the burger, when he'd rather be laying punches into my face.

"If I was Sigmund Freud, I'd be asking you if you had any latent sexual attraction to your mother," I smirked at Dean's widening eyes, "Or I'd be implying that your obsession with you car has something to do with your inadequacies regarding the size of your penis."

Dean shoved his food aside, "Do you want to take this outside, asshole?"

"It was joke, Winchester. Your father was never any good with my particular brand of humor either." My face sobered, "But honestly, I am only trying to help."

"I don't need it. And even if I did, I wouldn't need it from you." Dean got up from his seat suddenly finishing off the last remnants of his burger, "You ready to go? Sam called me a few minutes ago, he's found another job."

I finished up my beer and joined him, pulling on my coat, "Okay. And... if you ever do want to talk about it, Dean..."

Dean cut me off, "Don't count on it. Let's just go, I don't want to keep Sammy waiting."

* * *

We were going off a tip from Ruby. At least Dean wasn't thrilled with the idea either. I was considering the possibilities of sneaking the demon-killing knife from Dean and using it on Ruby the next time I saw her, when I nearly ran right into Sam's back. He'd stopped dead in his tracks at the entrance to our motel room.

There were two people waiting for us in the room. One of them Castiel. The other... well, I was assuming was he another Angel.

The sharply dressed black man stood at the front, Castiel behind him. Castiel's superior.

The Angel looked smug, "Winchester and Winchester." His eyes drifted to me, "And _you_."

"And me." I did my best to look unaffected by the gaze, "Have we met?"

"No." He sneered and turned his attention back to Sam and Dean, "You are needed."

"Needed? We just got back from _'Needed'_." Dean growled.

"Mind your tone with me." The Angel warned.

"No, you mind your damn tone with us!" Dean sure didn't know when to back off. And he sure liked to pick fights with people who could end his life with ease. This Angel could snap him in half, what did he think he was doing?

"Dean..." I warned.

"Oh, shut up, Methos! I don't need any comments from the peanut gallery right now!" He yelled back at me.

The Angel stepped closer to Dean, "We raised you from Hell for our purposes."

Dean clenched his teeth, "What exactly do you want from me?"

"Let's start with gratitude." The man said coolly.

Dean looked ready to start ranting again, but Castiel interjected.

"Dean, we know this is difficult to understand." He looked genuinely concerned for Dean.

"And _we.." _the other Angel turned back to Cas, "..don't care."

Never thought I'd find myself liking Castiel.

"Huh. So, Angels...the _messengers_ of God, are indifferent to human suffering? Makes sense I guess. Indifferent God yields indifferent Angels." I sighed taking a seat at the table near the window.

"Shut your mouth, abomination." The Angel snarled at me, "I would kill you myself if it didn't mean Lucifer would get his hands on you." He turned to Dean, "Now, seven Angels all from our garrison have been murdered. The last one was killed tonight."

"Demons?" Dean inquired, the Angel nodded, "How are they doing it?"

"We don't know." He said plainly.

"I'm sorry, but what do you want us to do about it?" Sam asked, "Isn't a demon that can ice an Angel a bit out of our league?"

Good question.

"We can take care of the demons, thank you very much." He straightened his tie.

To which Castiel added, "Once we find them."

"You need us to find a demon?" Dean asked skeptically.

"Not exactly. We have Alistair." Castiel stepped forward.

Ah, yes. I'd heard that the Angels had caught him during the aftermath of the failed seal breaking. The Angels had been the ones to lead the Winchesters there in the first place. Bobby's phone call had been a ruse. It had been Castiel who'd called. I'd known there was something fishy about the whole thing.

I noted the visible tension between the two Angels. They clearly didn't see eye to eye, but Castiel had to follow the orders of this other one I hadn't yet learned the name of.

"Great. He should be able to name your trigger man." Dean responded.

I watched in silence. I was just as curious as Dean as to why they could possibly need Sam & Dean's help on this.

"But he wont talk. Alastair's will is very strong." Castiel explained.

Dean nodded, "Yeah, well, he's like a black-belt in torture. You guys are out of your league."

The Angel looked at Dean expectantly, "That's why we've come to his _student_. You happen to be the most qualified interrogator we've got."

Student? Dean?

Had Dean...? Ah, so that was why he was so angry at himself! He'd tortured people in Hell. And just what were these Angels, playing at? They were going to make Dean relive that? The look on Dean's face told me more than enough. And I knew what I had to do. Just when had I become so selfless? What a hopeless sap I'd become, I was starting to disgust myself.

I cleared my throat to catch their attention and the two Angels turned to look at me coldly.

"That isn't..._ entirely... _true."

The other Angel seethed, "Out of the question. What would stop you from simply freeing Alastair and leaving with him?"

I groaned, "I don't want the seals broken. I happen to like the world just the way it is! Well... I mean it's not perfect. There's always room for improvement... like the price for gas, or reality televis--"

"He has a point, Uriel." Castiel looked toward the other Angel. _Uriel._ Nice to finally get a name to go with the overbearing condescension. "He's helped the Winchesters so far, and has shown no indication that he--"

"But that's what he does, Castiel! He is by nature a deceiver..." Uriel stepped closer to me in warning, but something was off about it... like it was all an act he was putting on for the four of us.

"Yes, well. You can watch if you like." I smiled amicably, "Or is there some other reason you'd really like to see Dean do this? I mean, Angels wouldn't do that, would they? Make a human suffer just for the _Hell_ of it?"

Castiel's eyes slid from mine to Uriel's. Clearly he'd been thinking the same thing.

"You can't deny that I am _in fact_ your--" I made little bunny ears with my fingers, "'_most qualified interrogator'_."

Dean was silently watching me, his jaw tight. But he was silent. That was a first. Good boy.

Castiel nodded, "I see no reason to make Dean do this when we have him."

Uriel looked displeased with this turn of events. But I got the sense that there was a plan swirling around in that great big noggin of his. And he called me the deceiver. We would see about that.

_"Fine."_ He growled out. And then I found myself swept up in a great wind, just as I wondered what the Hell I was getting myself into.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Disclaimer: I make no money off of this. And I don't own Highlander or Supernatural.**_

_**A/n: This is a torture scene, so it's not a sunshine and bunnies, but I don't go into any great details, so it shouldn't be too bad.  
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It was an abandoned building where they were keeping Alastair.

I looked through the glass of the door at the tied up demon. He was attached to a pentagram and the Devil's trap below him held various symbols and lettering. I recognized most all of them.

I smirked, "Enochian?"

"Yes." Castiel stood next to me, "He's bound completely."

I snorted, "And here I thought John Dee and his little seer apprentice just made that crap up back in the 16th Century. Angels actually talked to him?"

Castiel nodded slowly.

I remembered the claims that the man had made. Angels had taught him their language, and so he'd written it down in his journals. At the time I'd thought he was just another crazy person. There certainly were plenty of them over the centuries and so I hadn't put much thought into it.

I shrugged, "So, should we get started?"

He looked me over, "You are very... _casual_... about this. You _are_ about to torture someone."

"I'm aware." I looked over at him with a raised eyebrow, "I figured you'd just assume I'd jump at the chance. But I'm... not _casual_ about this at all. Not really. I'm just very good at hiding it."

Castiel blinked then stepped closer, he clearly hadn't yet grasped the concept of personal space. At least I was fairly positive he was no longer considering killing me, "Thank you. For doing this. When Uriel wanted to have Dean torture him..."

"And why was that exactly?" My eyes drifted to Uriel who was standing in the background behind them, ominously, "He did seem rather eager to make Dean inflict pain on someone else. A demon someone, but still. It's like he wanted Dean to suffer. Not very Angel like behavior." I frowned, "At least I think so. Don't really know many Angels, so perhaps that whole 'loving to all God's creations' thing was just hearsay..."

He stared at me the warning in his eyes was clear, "Uriel does not _enjoy_ seeing Dean suffer. He is merely... _concerned_ for the deaths of those in his garrison."

I crossed my arms and leaned in to whisper into his ear, "Sure about that, are you?" I pulled back and reached for the door like I hadn't said anything, "Well, let's get party started! I'm not getting any younger."

* * *

I pushed the cart of implements the Angels had provided me. Torture implement from God's Angels. What a world. I could hear Alastair begin to laugh when he saw me enter.

"Oh, this is.... ha! The Angels sent _you_?"

He laughed some more. The new body he was in was taller and more gangly. And he sounded like he was doing a Marlon Brando impression.

I rose a single eyebrow to indicate that I'd heard him, but didn't say anything in greeting. I only ripped of the covering off the cart and looked through the supplies that had been provided me. Holy water, rock salt, syringes, knives, acid, at the list went on. I reached for the sickle sitting next to the knives. I dipped the sickle in the holy water and then ran it through the rock salt like I was preparing a margarita glass.

"Don't suppose you'll just let me out... _hmm_? It was always so hard to tell with you. Never could say which _side_ you were on..."

"That's me. Mr. _Mysterious_." I turned to face him, he was eying the sickle with glee. I spun it around dexterously in my fingers. "I heard that you used one of these when you were killing the Reapers. Said_ Death_ gave it to you."

"Did I?" He grinned back at me knowingly, "And you don't remember giving any such.... _gift_?"

I stepped closer and over top the Devil's Trap. There was a fleeting concern that I may get trapped, but I dismissed it. I wasn't a demon.

"So, tell me about him. _Death_. Would like to know a little about the thing that plans on stealing my body."

I pressed the sickle lightly to his neck, it sizzled at the contact and Alastair hissed. Then he started to laugh hysterically despite the pain.

"Is that what _they_ told you? Ha! Oh! My... you really don't know, do you?" He actually turned to look at me in genuine surprise.

What was he talking about? Didn't know what? I lowered the sickle, "I'm not Death's vessel?"

His laughs picked up in volume, but he didn't answer the question. I glowered and brought the sickle up to his chest and used it to rip off the fabric of his shirt from his chest. I then cut slowly across his chest, I could smell the burning flesh and while I was sickened by it, I didn't stop.

For a moment, I felt remorse for inflicting this torture on the man to whom this body truly belonged. Poor sap. But I let it go almost instantly. No point on dwelling on things that I could do nothing about. The man was dead either way.

"Going to have to do... more than c-carve your name into my chest if you want me to... _talk_." he growled out.

I smirked darkly, "You tortured people in Hell, for what, thousands of years? Surely you must know the first rule of truly great _drama_?"

His eyes found mine. I may have imagined it, but I was fairly certain I saw him swallow nervously. When he didn't respond, I supplied him the answer.

"Start small..." I threw the sickle back on the table and reached for a large syringe and filled it with holy water, "and _build_."

* * *

"Aren't you supposed t-to be asking me about the dead Ang-gels?" Alastair coughed up some blood. I sat back in the chair I'd pulled up next to the cart.

I shrugged absently as I picked up another throwing knife, testing its balance, "What makes you think I care about that?"

The knife flew from my hand and into the demon's shoulder. Alastair winced in pain, but he was still grinning madly.

"Heh, I suppose you wouldn't. But I think I know what it is... you do want." He bared his teeth giving me a full view of his blooded and ravaged gums.

I did care about the dead Angels. In as much as it meant Lilith may have had the upper hand, which I didn't want. But I honestly didn't think the demons had anything to do with it.

If they knew how to kill Angels... then why stop at _seven_?

"Oh. And what do I _want_?" I grabbed a pair of pruning shears from the cart and advanced toward him.

"You want to know _who _you are." Alastair's eyes trailed to the shears as I brought them up to his hand. I placed several fingers of his hand in between the metal blades.

"And you _know_ who I am?" I eyed him suspiciously. Just what was he going on about?

"Y-Yes..." he purred out, staring me right in the eyes.

I sighed and brought the blades down on his fingers. He howled out in agony.

"OH!" He cried, "Y-you are good at this! Ha!" he gave a haggard breath. "But then..." he coughed and blood spilled from his lips, "what did I expect? You were my _teacher_."

My eyes widened and I pulled back.

"_What_?"

He laughed, "Oh, this is too good! Those bloody Angels convinced you to work for them with some..." he sneered, "_c-cockamamie_ story about you being the vessel for Death! Of course they wouldn't tell you the truth! Because then you would have no reason to help them! And you've always been so _fickle_... such a _fair-weather friend_..."

I blinked and stepped away from him, "Just what are you saying?"

"You aren't a vessel for Death." Alastair's eyes seared into my own, "You are** _Death._**"


	12. Chapter 12

**_Disclaimer: Not mine_**

**_A/n: I'm not thrilled with the ending of this chap, but... meh... whatcha' gonna do?_**

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"You're lying."

I brought the shears up to his hand again, this time at the wrist.

He sighed and cracked his neck, "Why would I lie, when the truth... is s-so much _better_?"

Alastair was practically giggling, now.

An anger surged up within me that I hadn't felt in centuries. I slammed the shears down, "You're LYING!"

Alastair howled in agony for his now missing limb.

I couldn't actually be... _Death Personified_. Could I? No... I couldn't be...

My entire life couldn't have been a lie! I thought I knew myself. I thought I was the only one who did! And now, it turned out even that wasn't true.

"There's that rage I remember! Good to have you back!"

I reached for my sword beneath my coat, and I ran him through with it and twisted. Blood pooled out of his mouth. I looked him right in the eyes, "**_Shut up_**."

I pulled my sword out and walked out of the Devil's Trap my mind swimming.

"_M-Make me_." Alastair gurgled from behind me.

I glanced over to the table and quickly grabbed for the holy water jug and poured the remaining rock salt into it. I advanced on the demon.

"Alright, Alastair. Since you asked so _nicely_."

I wrenched his mouth open and poured the mixture down his throat. His screams were cut off by the sound burning and sizzling flesh. I finished off the entire jug down his throat. I wasn't usually so keen to see another person suffer-- not since, well, you know. But this demon was really pissing me off.

Surprisingly the bastard was still able to talk albeit hoarsely, "T-There's something caught in my throat." he looked thoughtful, "I think it's my throat."

I jabbed my finger into one of his many wounds roughly, "How can I be the _real _Death? I'm just an Immortal."

He sniffed and leveled a condescending look my way, "And what a-are Immortals?"

My grip loosened, "What? What are they?"

He stuck out his chin and cracked his neck, "The G-Grigori...the Eighth Choir of Angels...cast out of Heaven during the Second Fall..."

My mouth dropped, "Bullshit."

He giggled, "Fraid not, boy-o. After you Grigori got your freak on with all those human women... and made sired all those.. disgusting _Nephilim_ who were wiped out by the flood... all of your choir was sentenced to live the remainder of your days among the humans on Earth, scattered all over time. And as _punishment_ for your choir's crimes...you were no longer able to blend in quite as well as before, never aging, never getting sick. And you certainly weren't able to procreate and create any more freaky love children_._.."

I shook my head. If I could have a coronary, I'm pretty sure that I would be having one right now.

"What about the Game?" I frowned, "The Quickenings?"

"'_The __Game'_ was just the Angels' way of getting rid of you_ f-freaks, _without actually killing you themselves_! _Back then, they just couldn't bring themselves to kill their own brothers and sisters. Fallen Angels killing each other for sport for some _imaginary _prize? Ha! Sort of makes me wish I'd thought of it." He chuckled and then cringed in pain, "And Quickenings... just the fragments of what remains of the Grace that was forcefully ripped from you..." Alastair smiled, "Have you seen the fireworks it makes when an Angel gets killed?" he moaned in pleasure, "It's g-glorious."

I kept myself from shaking. I'd learned long ago how to keep my composure even when faced with devastating revelations. But right now, I damn well wanted to scream.

"I'm... a _fallen_ Angel?" I still wasn't convinced.

"You..." he suddenly looked almost reverent toward me, which made me extremely uncomfortable, "are the _first_ Grigori. The Angel of Death. _Azrael_..."

I stared at him for a moment and then walked away from him rubbing my temple furiously.

"I think I need a drink."

I was about to turn around and ask more questions, when I found Alastair was standing right in front of me. I reached for the shotgun on the table, but he smacked me right across the face sending me sprawling to the ground.

"You should talk to your plumber about the pipes." He gestured toward the water that had leaked from the ceiling to break the Devil's Trap. I was willing to bet money that it was Uriel's doing.

And then I was in the air, Alastair's only remaining hand wrapped around my neck, "They ripped your Grace right out of you-- your powers, your memories, _everything_-- after the Great Flood. They didn't want you around anymore. Doesn't that make you... _**angry**_?"

My oxygen supply was dwindling as he continued to rant and I flailed uselessly against him, "But that part of you still remains down in The Pit... just _waiting _for the day when the seals are broken. You should be** _thanking_** me. You've lived so long, missing out on who you really are... and we're gonna give that _back_ to you." His face was inches from mine, now, and a blackness started to creep around my vision as he continued to strangle me, "See you on the other side, old friend."

And then something distracted Alastair from his goal, which I was fairly sure involved ripped my head from my shoulders. It was Castiel. Alastair dropped me the floor and I scrambled hapharzardly backward as Castiel stabbed him with the enchanted knife. It only flashed slightly, not killing him.

"Looks like God is on my side today..." Alastair quipped just as Castiel's arm reached up to twist the blade with his mind. The demon grunted in pain, but was able to free the blade from his chest. He then ran at Castiel full speed shoving him right on to a hook on the wall. I winced in pain at the action. That had to hurt.

I pulled myself to my feet. Looking for someway to help Castiel. Niether of them were paying much attention to me.

"Like roaches, you celestials." Alastair sniffed, "I really wish I _knew _how to kill you. But all I can do is send you back to Heaven." He gripped tightly around Castiel's neck and began to recite in Latin. Castiel's eyes and mouth started to glow as his essence was ripped from his vessel.

Doing the only thing I could think to do I stepped behind Alastair, lifted my sword, and preformed a motion I'd done far too many times to count. The man's head fell to the floor and the smoke that was Alastair surrounded the room and then quickly disappeared.

Castiel collapsed to the ground in front of me. I didn't move to help him, I simply slid my sword back into my jacket and watched him pull himself back to his feet, my face impassive. He was watching me carefully. I wondered how much of the conversation he'd heard. I figured he'd heard enough. But I didn't feel like talking about it. And I was avoiding what the Angel might do to me if I did.

"The demons aren't the one's killing Angels." I told him tersely, I turned to the leaky pipe and pointed out the broken Devil's Trap, "I'm thinking inside job. Uriel would be my first choice. Seems the type."

"Uriel? Why would he kill his own garrison?" Castiel bristled, I almost felt the undercurrent of _'he's not like you.'_

"I don't know." I shrugged disinterestedly, "You'd have to ask him."

I turned around and started to walk away.

"Where are you going?" The Angel's voice asked from behind me, clearly suspicious.

"To get a drink."

Surprisingly he let me go.

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_**A/n**_**_: So, I'm in no way religious (although I do find I have an academic interest in religion) so the majority of what I know about Grigori, Nephilim, Azreal and Noah's Flood is based off of Wikipedia entries and random websites on the internet. I tried to make it as close to what it is actually in the Bible and the Apocrypha and other sources, but honestly, it's not like Supernatural is sticking close to biblical canon or anything, so I'll make embellishments and what not, especially with Azreal and the Grigori...for obvious reasons. _**


	13. Chapter 13

_**Disclaimer: Not mine, please don't sue.**_

_**A/n: Thanks for all the reviews, it makes me happy to know people are reading. This is a shorter chapter, but it seemed to work better in my mind as a separate chapter from the next part.**_

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I was on my 5th beer when I saw Sam running into the bar looking around frantically, Dean wasn't far behind. He finally caught sight of me and looked surprised to see me just sitting there.

Sam rushed over, "Ben, what happened? One minute you were there, the next the Angels whisked you off to La-la land! We tracked you to that abandoned building, but Cas said you were here... but he wasn't really forthcoming with what had happened... seemed sort of out of it."

Dean was his usual gruff self, "Went to all the trouble of having Ruby track you, and you're just a some bar getting trashed? I don't believe this!"

I shrugged and nursed my beer solemnly, "Well, I tortured the demon. Uriel booby-trapped the Devil's Trap. Demon got loose. I expect he'll claim I did it."

Although, technically, I was an Angel too. I tried not to think about it. Thank God I was so good at compartmentalizing. On second thought, not 'Thank God'. _Screw him._

Dean and Sam took seats across from me. Dean looked livid, "Alastair got away?"

"Well, I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't exactly have the capability to kill him, did I? And he was about to ship Castiel back to the Angel-farm in the sky. So instead, I chopped off the head off the man Alastair was wearing...."

"Oh." Dean shifted in his spot, not looking me in the eyes. I suspect he was uncomfortable with the fact that I had volunteered to go in his place. He was the type of person who was uneasy accepting favors from friends, let alone someone who he'd previously shown nothing but contempt for.

Sam spoke up. "So, you think it's Uriel who's killing the Angels? Why would he do that?"

"I really don't know. I shudder to think." I shrugged.

"What's got you so down and out, Chuckles?" Dean asked, noting the depressed slumped posture that I wasn't concerned with trying to conceal. I don't know if was my mind playing tricks, but I thought I might have heard a hint of concern from the oldest Winchester. Dean must have caught himself and gave me a dark grin, "Didn't get enough of a torturing fix when you were working over Alastair?"

"Very funny, Dean." I gave him an unimpressed roll of my eyes, "You're a modern day Aristophanes."

"Who?" Dean stared at me blankly.

I gave him a long-suffering look, "Oh, that's right. You've never read anything that doesn't have women with big heaving breasts on the cover. What was Miss. February's favorite food again?"

"Chocolate strawberries." Dean answered almost instantly, then saw both looks on both Sam and my face, "What? The articles are interesting!" He then glared at the two of us, "And I'm a _guy_! I _like_ hot women! You two are the weird ones. Like a couple of nerdy little girls."

"Perhaps I just don't need to get my fix of ogling the female anatomy by looking magazines, when I can just as easily get the real thing." I stated, humor coloring my tone.

Dean's mouth dropped, "Are you suggesting that I can't get any? Do you know who you're_ talking _to? I can get some whenever I want! I can get more than you any day of the week!"

Sam just rolled his eyes and didn't get involved in the argument, clearly knowing me well enough to see that I was simply goading Dean for the Hell of it.

"It's a matter of quality over quantity, Winchester." I tried to keep my amusement at his reaction from showing too much on my face, "How many women that you pick up are actually sober at the time?"

Dean's mouth opened and then closed a few times, clearly not having a good comeback, "Oh, like you can actually pick up chicks! Give me a break! Probably too busy ready dusty old manuscripts and swinging around that penis extension you call a sword, like your that Star Wars Kid from the internet."

"Dean, Dean, Dean...." I sighed, "With age comes experience. For example.... we're in America." I stated simply without further explanation, making Dean look both expectant and annoyed at the same time.

"Yeah? What's your point?"

The corner of my mouth twitched slightly upward and I leaned closer to him, "What possible reason could I have to talk the way I do?" I looked around, "I mean, do you honestly believe this is my real accent? I wasn't exactly born & raised in Britain..."

Dean looked confused for a second, "Wait... what?" Then his eyes widened in realization and he laughed, "Oh! Oh, that's good! You're good!"

Surely Hell must have just frozen over. Dean might have just started to like me.

* * *

"You were a roadie for the Rolling Stones?" Dean asked amazed, "Get out of town! You must have some stories!"

I laughed, "Oh, I've got some good ones. Let me tell you, there was this one time one the road, when Mick and Keith..."

I went on to tell him all the lewd details of the drugs, sex, and whatever else that I'd gotten up to with the band.

Dean was enthralled, "Man, I am so jealous!"

Sam was ahead of us still rolling his eyes.


	14. Chapter 14

_**Disclaimer: I own neither Highlander or Supernatural, unfortunately. :( I make no money from this story. **_

_**A/n: thanks again for the reviews, they are what keeps me cranking out chapters :)**_

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It was well past 3 AM and both Sam and Dean were out like a light. I couldn't sleep. Not when I'd just learned something so Earth-shattering about myself. I'd hid it well enough from the Winchesters, but I just couldn't stop running through the implications in my head long enough to get any rest.

So, that was how I found myself sitting outside in the cold.

There was a park not far from the motel. Not the best area to be at night, but I wasn't concerned about a stray mugger looking to grab a few extra bucks right now. I had a gun with me anyway. Just in case. Didn't live this long being stupid.

I looked up to the sky. It was a clear night, the stars sparkled brightly.

Grigori.

Immortals were _Grigori_.

I laughed out loud.

Grigori. Also known as _Watchers_. The Angels who were tasked with watching over the human race on Earth. And then apparently, after we fell, a group of humans started to _watch_ us right back. I couldn't help but find that hilarious...

But at the same time... I just... I thought I knew myself. And it turned out that I didn't and that-- well, it scared me._ I_ scared me. There had certainly been times in the past were I wasn't exactly fond of myself or my actions, but I'd never been scared about who I was. And truth be told, right now? I was terrified.

I closed my eyes. I didn't want to believe this. But I couldn't deny that it made sense. It gave a reason for the existence of Immortals. It explained why we were all foundlings. Why we didn't fight on holy ground. And it explained why I'd been running from death and what lay beyond it more fiercely than any other Immortal I'd ever met.

Maybe I'd actually been running from myself...

I opened my eyes and I nearly jumped out of my skin when I found Castiel was sitting there right next to me. I cursed in several different languages, most of them long dead.

"You were right. Uriel was responsible for the deaths of those in my garrison." He looked ahead of us, and I could tell there was a tumolt of feeling within him, even if he did his best not to show it.

"I would say I told you so, but it's probably not a good idea to taunt an Angel." I sighed, "Did he say why?"

"He became disobedient. He wished to join Lucifer." He turned to look me straight in the eyes and I felt a shiver run up my spine, "Now, he's _dead_."

It took a massive amount of effort on my part, but I didn't break away from his eyes and I tried to be a sincere as I could, "I'm _sorry_."

"Are you?" His jaw tightened.

I rose an eyebrow knowingly, and then straightened my coat around me to shelter myself from a particularly strong burst of cold air.

"How about we stop tip-toeing through the bloody tulips here, Cas." I sighed and finally looked away, "Is it true? What Alastair said about me?"

"Yes." Castiel responded, watching my reactions carefully, "You are not... a _vessel_. You _are _Azrael."

I leaned back and shook my head looking up at the stars, "Not every day someone lives for over five thousand years, only to find out that their entire life has been a lie. I'm not really sure whether I should... laugh or cry. Or get really really _drunk_...." I remembered what Alastair said about the Game, and I knew I should be angry about it, but the anger just wasn't there. I think I was just too damn tired, both mentally and psychically, "Did the other Angels really come up with the Game? Did they want to wipe us out?"

Castiel looked indignant at the suggestion.

"_No_. I'm afraid the Grigori came up with_ that_ all by themselves. Alastair was simply trying coax you into joining Lilith." Castiel actually seemed troubled as he explained, "When the first of you discovered that slaughtering your brothers and sisters gave you what remained of their Grace.. you became _addicted _to it. It gave you a taste of that which you'd lost. And perhaps that was what some that still remembered so long ago had hoped the Prize _was_. To return to Heaven. But no matter how many Grigori kill each other, no matter if there _is_ only one left at the end of it all... they would never possess enough Grace to return to us. And... that Grace would be irreparably tainted by the slaughter of your brethren. The 'winner' of the 'Game' would never be accepted back after such an atrocity."

It made a sick sort of sense. And it made me... feel a _regret_ that I would certainly never admit to anyone else. A regret for all those that I had killed intentional and not. I seldom ever sought out the deaths of other Immortals, I usually only ever defended myself. But even knowing that, didn't make me feel any better about it. Because I knew the feeling that Castiel spoke of. The rush I'd get from every strike of lightning, every sizzling sensation, the pure searing ecstasy of it, like a kiss from _heaven._

"Did I have any children? Alastair spoke of the Nephilim..."

That was something that every Immortal longed for. And to think that it had been taken from us as punishment, and that I may have had a child that was killed...

"No. You did not. You were committed to your task. Some believed you were almost too fervent in your desire to take souls. And some in Heaven questioned your motives. That perhaps you enjoyed taking life. Many of the Angels never even saw you, let alone spoke to you. I'd never met you before seeing you on the porch with Dean Winchester. You split your time between Earth and _Hell, _seldom returning to Heaven." Castiel paused, "And... while you may not have been _tainted _by taking a human wife and having children... you always seemed indifferent to Heaven's wishes. During the War in Heaven, you refused to take sides between Lucifer and God. Some claimed it was cowardice, while others thought it was simple apathy. You were always... between worlds. Between Heaven and Hell. No one was ever sure who it was you sided with. Such is the nature of death itself. Not good, not evil... but necessary. Because what is life, without death?"

"A very _successful_ one?" I smirked in answer. Castiel just stared at me, like usual.

I couldn't help but think that the Angel he was describing was, at least, _similar_ to myself. A mystery wrapped in an enigma, just the way I liked it. But, was it _me_? Was I Azrael? What made me the same person-- the same being-- if I didn't remember it? What were we, if not our memories?

Our souls?

Even with all this proof around me for God and spiritual side of the world... I found it hard to believe that I was meant to be one way because of some mystery essence within me. Had my _soul_ guided me to be a cynical bastard? No. My life and experiences had... surely?

"Uriel had hoped you would either be killed by Alastair to be sent to Hell or free the demon yourself and join Lilith's quest to break the seals. He wanted to see you join Lucifer to bolster his strength. So then the other Angels would continue to blame the demons for the deaths of those who Uriel himself had murdered when he'd failed to convert them."

"To steal a phrase from the lexicon of Dean Winchester: _'What a douche-nozzle.'_" I joked lightly, but it clearly hadn't had the intended effect of cheering the Angel up. Can't blame a guy for trying.

Castiel didn't look at me, "_Thank you_, for not letting Alastair rip me from my vessel. And for not joining him when you had the chance..." He paused and finally looked in my direction, "Even after you found out the truth."

"I understand why you would lie to me about it... and I certainly can't fault someone for lying." I clucked my tongue, "Although... perhaps I aught to sue you for copyright infringement." I smirked, "But why didn't you just lock me up? Not that I don't appreciate it, _a lot._ But I am a liability."

I probably shouldn't have been giving him ideas.

"I... shared the same concerns over your loyalty, especially from what I'd learned of your actions thousands of years ago... but we had orders not to take you prisoner." Cas stated plainly.

"Well, thank God for that." I gave him an amused tilt of my head, to which he just stared back at me blankly.

I decided not to ask too many question about who those orders came from, exactly. For all I knew, there were a lot more Angels who thought like Uriel and wanted to see me free to become Death. But I wasn't about to point that out to Castiel because I certainly didn't relish the idea of being held captive, no matter the reason.

"This is not the time for jokes, Azrael." Castiel glowered.

"How about you don't call me that... and I don't tell any more jokes?" I glowered right back.

"But it is who you are." Castiel's head tilted like a curious puppy.

"Is it? I certainly don't feel like a fallen Angel. Certainly not_ the_ Angel of Death. I feel like... a very _jaded_ old man. That's what I feel like."

"It is my understanding that that was how you were even before your Grace was ripped from you." Castiel stated plainly.

"Oh? Well!" I couldn't do anything but laugh out loud, "Thanks for your honesty, at least."

"You're... _welcome_."

After saying the words, Castiel suddenly looked very uncomfortable. Clearly he didn't like that he was getting so chummy with a fallen Angel, who also happened to be a Horseman of the Apocalypse. He stood, "You should return to the Winchesters, it's almost morning."

"Whatever you say, brother." I smiled back at him amicably.

Castiel reeled back at the name_ 'brother'_, but didn't say anything about it.

He just... disappeared.


	15. Chapter 15

_**Disclaimer: Not mine.**_

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I've sort of settled into a steady pattern with the Winchesters. Follow them through a case, throw in my opinion with a bit of snark and arrogance, move on to next haunting or demon sighting. I'd been distracted lately, caught between curiosity and terror about what might happen to me should the seals break. I didn't want Hell on Earth, and I feared that if I should get my 'Grace' back I may turn into something terrible. But more than that I was scared that I'd turn into someone that just plumb _wasn't_ me. I hadn't lived this long to throw it all away.

I was Methos. I was me. And I wasn't going to give that up easily.

I'd considered calling up Macloed to talk about it, but I didn't know how to approach the subject. It would devastate the Highlander to know the truth about the Immortals, and that was if he even believed me. He'd probably think I was making fun of him about the whole Ahriman situation. He'd think I was having him on. _Oh, funny ol' Methos, pull the other one!_

I could call up Amanda, or Hell even Joe, but I didn't know how to broach the subject with them either. I wished Darius was still alive, he would have been the perfect council for this situation.

I definitely wasn't going to talk about it to Dean or Sam. Dean had finally started to not completely despise my company. He'd even let me be in charge of the radio a couple of times, which was no small thing in the land that was Dean's Impala. It was practically an olive branch of peace. And I wasn't about to go ruining that by spilling my guts to them that I wasn't just a vessel, I was the actual Horseman of the Apocalypse sans the memory and powers. I wasn't about to tell him I was a Fallen Angel, who may or may not be best buddies with Satan himself.

There was Castiel to talk to, but he hadn't shown himself since that night. At least not to me.

"Just what are you trying to pull, asshole?" Dean grumbled from the driver's seat. I was in next to him, Sam was in the back fast asleep.

I pulled myself out of my thoughts and looked over at him, "Sorry?"

Dean gestured to the radio, a look of disgust on his face.

"ABBA?"

I blinked and looked over to the radio, which was blaring 'Dancing Queen' on near full blast. My hand was right by the radio, having just changed it a few seconds prior.

"Seriously? Dude, I thought you had taste..." Dean stared at the radio like it was eminating some foul stench.

"Oh, right, sorry." I frowned, "I was lost in my thoughts," I quickly changed to a station playing a Def Leppard song and leaned back in my seat.

This whole situation was definitely getting to me. I almost never lost track of my surroundings or what I was doing like that. Even if it was something as simple as zoning out and accidentally leaving on a radio station playing a song by a cheesy Swedish pop band.

* * *

"Two double-bacon cheeseburgers meals and a Cobb salad, please." I muttered to the pock-marked teen behind the counter, distractedly.

Sam & Dean should be back from the Fort Worth police station soon. They were posing as FBI agents trying to find information on their latest case, and I had been designated 'food wrangler' while they were gone.

There had been an unusually high number of suicides in the past 5 weeks in the downtown area of Fort Worth. Even more unusual was the nature of the suicides. Every single one: from the 13 year old girl scout to the 90 year old retired podiatrist-- all of them had lept to their deaths from the exact same floor of the exact same building.

I grabbed my food order and quickly made my way back across the street to our newest, and questionably sanitary, motel room.

Dean & Sam were already back, and still in their black suits, I nodded in greeting "_Agents."_

"About time. I'm starving." I'd barely set the food down before he'd swiped it off the table to get his burger.

"So, any developments?" I took a seat at the table where Sam was typing away furiously at his computer.

"The police didn't tell us much more that we didn't already know. Except Sheriff Mason did mention something about suicides not being this rampant since the day's of 'Hell's Half Acre'..." Sam looked down at his computer with a frown.

"I'm afraid I'm not familiar." I shifted closer to see the computer screen.

"Something you don't know about?" Dean scoffed, "What _is_ the world coming to?"

I gave him a dopey grin, "You know, I was thinking the same thing."

Dean pulled a face and then looked to his brother, "So what's this 'Hell's Half Acre' thing? Is it as bad as it sounds?"

"Well... not so bad-- not demonic _bad_, anyway. It's referring to a time in the late 1800's when Fort Wayne had _'acres'_ of bars, casinos, etc... and was rampant with thieves, gunslingers, and con men."

"Sounds like my kind of town." Dean grinned, "So, were there any suicides in that building on the 6th floor during in the 1800's?"

Sam shook his head, "That building wasn't even there until 1932." He clicked a link on his computer and an old picture popped up, "But there was a brothel located on that spot which burned to the ground in 1896. But it only had four floors." Sam scrunched his face in consternation.

I tapped my fingers on the table thoughtfully, "Did anyone jump from the roof?"

"That was what I was thinking. So, I looked up local deaths during the time it was still around, and cross referenced it with anything mentioning the building..."

"Oh, _please_ tell me we're hunting a ghost-hooker...." Dean crossed his fingers with glee.

Sam gave him a look, then sighed, "Yes... _Dean_. It seems like we are."

Dean gave a whoop and came up behind us to look at the screen, "Is she hot?"

"It seems there are no photographs of the woman who fell to her death in 1887, sorry Dean. The only information I can seem to get about her is that her name was 'Harley' and her death was ruled a suicide... although that designation appears... dubious." Sam crossed his arms leaning away from the screen.

"Dubious?" I repeated.

"It would seem that before leaping to her death, 'Harley' tied her arms and legs together with rope, and stabbed herself in the back." Sam explained.

"Hmm, yes I suppose that would classify as_ 'dubious'_." I tried not to laugh, as I'm sure the boys wouldn't appreciate it.

"And the cops listed _that_ as suicide?" Dean anger rose slightly for the dead woman.

I sighed, "The times were different, especially in early developing cities in the American west. Corruption was a way of life. And while prostitution may hold the honor of being the world's oldest profession, it isn't exactly looked upon positively both now and back then. I doubt anyone lifted a finger in protest at the ruling of death."

"So, they let scumbags get away with killing her because she slept with guys for money?" Dean glowered.

"Hmpf... while you're chivalry in regards to this long dead woman is honorable-- it is entirely _pointless_. Nothing to be done about it now. But perhaps we aught to focus on the more important question. Why is this ghost acting out now? Why wait over 120 years?" I looked at the both of them expectantly.

Sam snapped his fingers, "I think I've got it!"

Both Dean & I looked to his computer screen to find the web-page of the local history museum.

"The little girl who jumped last week... in her mother's testimony she mentioned that_ 'Sally just couldn't stop talking about her visit to the Fort Worth History Museum, Sally really loved the old medieval armor and swords'_... and it goes on like that, about how she was such a happy little girl and this suicide made no sense. And they lived a good 5 miles from downtown, so Sally would have to have walked the entire way there in the middle of the night..." Sam set down the copied police reports he'd been reading off of, "And that got me thinking, so I looked at the other death reports, and four others mentioned going to the History Museum in a 24 hour period before _jumping_..."

"So you think there's an object in the museum that this hooker's spirit is attached to?" Dean surmised.

"Yes." Sam nodded, "It would have to be something in a new or traveling collection. Perhaps the closeness to the building caused the spirit to reawaken?"

"Well, then! Let's go fry us a hooker-ghost!" Dean clasped his hands together in eagerness.


	16. Chapter 16

_Disclaimer: I do not own Highlander or Supernatural :( This was written for fun and no money is being made off it by me. _

_A/n: **IMPORTANT: I made a minor change to the last chapter cutting off the end, where I introduce the possibility of another Highlander character making an appearance.** I decided to edit it. And I suppose I should thank Titan of Saturn for calling me out on it (because Titan was right and I got a little overzealous about getting into the meet and greet between said person and the Winchesters). I don't want to cheapen this story, or fall into a pattern that some fanfics do where characters do or say things that don't make any sense with regard to what we know about them just to get the story headed in a certain direction. Anyway... that's why I cut part of the last chapter and added this first part to this chapter. :) If I do it again, feel free to tell me. I don't take criticism so well. But I also don't want false praise.... well, okay, maybe I do a little. ;)_

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I held the EMF firmly in my pocket and adjusted my earphones as I continued to stroll casually through the exhibits trying to find what may have a vengeful spirit attached to it. Dean and Sam had taken separate areas of the museum. I was currently ambling through a traveling collection of rare gems from the Smithsonian, while Sam was walking through the older collections just to be safe, and Dean had taken the other newer exhibit on Native Americans.

The gems were all rather exquisite, the Bismark Sapphire especially. And the security was... _tight_. Tighter than I felt comfortable with. I continued down the line in the crowded room. I always hated crowds, could never get where you wanted. It was a stone's age before I reached the final item, a 275-carat diamond necklace called "The B. Coleman Necklace."

As I got closer the EMF went up like a Christmas tree and the noise nearly blew out my eardrums. I gave a surprised curse under my breath causing an elderly couple ahead of me to give me a dirty look.

I tried to look sheepish, "Sorry." then glanced to the diamond and gave a mock sigh, "But... it's just soo..._ beautiful._.." I wiped away a fake tear.

They quickly extricated themselves from my presence (like I was hoping the would) so I could get some space. I turned to look at the diamond necklace more closely. Just why the Hell would the ghost of a prostitute attach itself to a diamond necklace? Yet another _dubious_ addition to this little story.

I glanced up when I heard a voice cursing and trying to make his way through the crowd. Dean.

He finally made it over to me, "So, you find anything, man? I came up dry."

I tilted my head toward the glass encased necklace.

"What was a hooker doing with a diamond necklace?" Dean scowled at the offending object.

"Got me." I shrugged.

The people waiting behind us in the line to see the gems started to complain, so we stepped off to the side.

Dean whispered to me, "So, great. We found it. Let's come back tonight when everyone's gone."

I shook me head, "Not so fast, Dean."

I gestured to the case holding the necklace, "That stand is pressure sensitive. There are cameras placed strategically all over this room. That necklace may not be the most expensive in this collection, but all these gems here have _a lot_ of security protecting them, and that's if we can even get into the building at night. I think I even saw a gate that is primed to lock in any intruders if that necklace or anything else in this room is disturbed... and the police station is only two blocks away."

"So, what are we supposed to do?" Dean bristled with frustration.

"You and Sam are many things, but you don't exactly strike me as professional thieves. You'll get caught." I gestured to myself emphatically. _"I'll _get caught. There won't be enough time to cut and run after the alarm sounds." I said under my breath so no one around but Dean could hear me.

"Got any other bright ideas, Einstein?" He crossed his arm and glared at me.

I cursed under my breath. Well if nothing else, things were about to get very interesting. I ran a hand through my hair, with a sigh.

"I... might _happen_ to know someone who can help."

* * *

Surprisingly, it hadn't taken much convincing on my part for Amanda to fly in all the way from Paris. The only words she'd needed to hear were _'steal'_ and _'museum'_ before she was packing her things and hopping on a plane. It may also have had something to do with the fact that I seldom asked her for favors, and she was likely insanely curious as to why I'd started now.

"So, who is this chick again?" Dean asked leaning against his Impala, while we waited for Amanda in the airport parking lot.

I leaned against the car beside him, "Amanda?" I let out an uneasy breath, "That's, uh, certainly a _loaded _question."

Sam paced with his hands in his pockets, "You said that she's a professional thief..."

Dean shared his brother's unease, "Like we need another Bela Talbot."

I didn't know who that was. Maybe I'd ask about it later.

"Oh, don't worry, kids. I think you'll like her." I grinned, "Hell, I'm _positive_ she'll like you. Always had a thing for brooding boy scouts."

Dean rose an interested eyebrow, "Oh?"

I was about to respond when I heard a familiar voice shouting my name. A name that she really shouldn't have been shouting at the top of her lungs in the middle of a crowded airport. I groaned and pinched the bridge of my nose. This had been a bad idea. Amanda had the subtlety and discretion of a loud-mouthed toddler sometimes, despite her actual age and her chosen profession.

"That her?" Dean asked appreciatively. Amanda; who was clad in a blue sundress, shades, and sporting bleach blond shoulder length hair, skipped over the crosswalk and made her way over to us like a bright bucket of vomitous sunshine. With the number of bags she was carrying and dragging behind her I was surprised she was still able to walk, let alone gracefully glide along in her expensive high-heels.

"Yes." I forced a grin, as she came within talking distance.

"Methos!" She shouted again, and noticing my uncomfortable stance, she backtracked and gave me a conspiratory whisper, "They do know right? I thought you said they knew..."

"Yes, Amanda. They know about _me."_ I couldn't be too obvious about it, but hopefully she got the point that I hadn't told them about her 'condition'. She hadn't let me do much explaining on the phone before she'd gotten positively giddy at the thought of stealing something. I'd told her over the phone to be discreet about her Immortality, but I hadn't been entirely sure if she'd been listening. I'd have to take her aside and make sure she understood later.

She turned to grin and Dean and Sam, "Well, hello boys..." she leered and pursed her lips seductively, "So, which one of you is Dean, and which one is Sam?"

Dean cleared his throat, "I'm Dean, that's my younger... _less experienced _brother, Sam."

Sam gave a none to subtle glare at Dean for the jab.

Amanda laughed and gave Dean an appreciatory once over, "Forward, hmm?" she winked, "I like that in a man..."

She turned to Sam and practically threw her luggage into his unsuspecting arms, "Sam? Be a dear and put my bags in the trunk? That's a good boy." She patted him on the head and rounded the car to get into the passenger seat.

Dean grinned widely at me, "I'm liking you more everyday, Methos." He quickly got in the driver seat to flirt with Amanda.

I turned to a flummoxed Sam who was clutching onto the luggage, clearly confused about what had just happened.

"Let me help you with those, Sam."

He shook out of his stupor and looked down at the bags, "R-Right."

I popped open the trunk and relieved him of the larger pieces to put into the Winchesters' trunk.

"She's a thief?" Sam asked incredulously, as he tossed a bag into the back next to me.

I looked up from pushing a large handbag between the suitcases, "Amanda's more than _just_ a thief, Sam. She's one of the best thieves in the world."

"Thank you, darling!" I heard Amanda yell from the front seat in a cultured tone.

I smirked and quickly responded in kind, "You're welcome, darling."

Sam looked confused at the interaction and whispered to me, "Are you and her...?" he gestured, uncomfortably, "you know?"

I chuckled under my breath and shook my head, "No."

"Oh."

He had an odd expression on his face, like he was trying to work something out in his brain. I didn't like it. Sometimes Sam was too smart for his own good. He might just work out the truth, and I couldn't have that.

Sam shut the trunk, and we both hopped in the back.

Amanda spun around in her seat to fix her gaze on me, "So, Dean tells me you're hunting a ghost? I didn't think that would be your cup of tea, Methos..."

"The things you don't know about me, Amanda..." I trailed off.

_The things she didn't know about herself._ I wondered briefly who she'd been before the 'fall'. _Amanda_ as an Angel. That was nearly as ridiculous as _me_ being an Angel. MacLeod? Well, that I could see.

Amanda took pity on me and didn't push the point, "So, the B. Coleman diamond necklace, huh?" she fiddled with her white gloves, taking them off a finger at a time, "Seems a shame to just, I don't know... _destroy_ it, after I steal it for you... maybe I could just take it and never bring it back to Fort Worth? I mean--"

"No." Dean interjected, his face hard, "It's getting destroyed."

Amanda pouted and leaned in toward Dean giving him an ample view of her cleavage, "_Oh,_ you're almost as bad as MacLeod... aren't you?" she batted him on the nose, "Maybe we'll discuss it later, after I've gotten it for you boys... hmm?"

Dean stared distractedly at her, then his expression cleared, "Sorry, but no. End of discussion."

Few could resist Amanda, but Dean could be surprisingly bull headed when it cam to the mission at hand. Amanda had her work cut out for her, certainly. But I think she could pull it off, if she really tried. She'd see Dean as a challenge, if nothing else.

She scoffed and leaned back in her seat with a huff, but I could see a glint of something devious in her eyes, "Fine. Have it your way, grouchy."


	17. Chapter 17

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Highlander or Supernatural. Woe is me.**_

_**A/n: Thanks for all the reviews guys, I may not respond to all of them, but I do read them all and they make me happy! :)  
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"So..."

Dean stepped up next to Amanda, who had spread the museum floor plan across the bed in the Ritz Carleton hotel room she'd booked immediately after seeing the squalor of a room we had been staying in. She refused to even set foot in the it.

"What's the plan?"

"The plan, my dear boy... is quite simple. You see this is the sort of job I do on the way to the dry cleaners." she pointed at the entrance, "There are cameras at the door and all over the building. Simple thing to bypass those and put them on a feedback loop before I even step foot inside. I can get in through the back door, where shipments come in, by hacking the keypad. The rest..." she gave a dismissive wave of her had, "straight forward. Avoid the guards, get by any motion and heat sensors-- which I'm not envisioning I'll run into a lot of here. This is a small museum, not Fort Knox." She pulled out a gaudy fake diamond necklace, "And while this cubic zirconium necklace won't fool anyone of discerning taste, it should at least take them longer to realize the real diamond necklace is missing. And I made sure it weighs the same as the B. Coleman, so it won't set off the pressure plate. I'll be long gone before any cops make an appearance... and I'll look gorgeous doing it."

"_You'll_ be long gone? Aren't we coming with you?" Dean frowned in disappointment, and a hint of suspicion.

Amanda looked up at him, "Well, certainly not all three of you are coming with me. That would be a little conspicuous, don't you think?" She said as though she were speaking to a small child, "And more likely that one of you would set off an alarm," she winked at me, "potentially by having a duel of wits with a house cat."

I gave her a forced smile. She was never going to let me live that down was she? And I'd gotten shot in the middle of a Watcher's building for god-sake! Where she'd nearly left me to rot! And now she was making jokes about it?

"Well, at least one of us is going with you." Dean said stubbornly.

Amanda grinned, "I wouldn't have it any other way, gorgeous."

* * *

"So, not that I don't appreciate the eye candy, Methos... but why are _you_ hanging around two hunters?" Amanda pulled me aside and the hotel bar with a look that told me she wasn't about to let this go.

"It's complicated, Amanda." I sighed.

"Yeah? So are these Manolo Blahnik's," she gestured down to the intricate straps of her shoes that came up to mid-calf, "But I_ still_ put them on this morning."

I gave her a thin smile, "Think Ahriman, times a thousand."

She gave me a skeptical brow, "You must be joking? You didn't even believe MacLeod when he was fighting that thing... and now you're hopping on the hunting bandwagon with two mortals? I don't buy it."

I suppose I could at least tell her part of the truth, without mentioning the whole 'fallen Angel' debacle.

"Amanda... it's the _Apocalypse_. And before you ask, no. I am not kidding you."

She looked ready to laugh, but when she caught sight of the serious look on my face, her own blanched.

"The... that's _not possible_... what about..." she leaned forward, "the Horsemen?"

I didn't give her an answer right away and then I just shrugged, "Why do you think I'm helping them?"

Amanda bit her bottom lip, "The End of the World, huh? I guess that's what it takes for you to get off your lazy ass and fight for something..."

"Listen you, you're not too old to put over my knee." I reached for my drink and gave her meaningful glare.

Her lips curled upward from the seat across from me, "Is that a promise?"

I gave her a withering look and rolled my eyes.

Suddenly, she came closer to me, a predatory gleam in her eye, "Why didn't you and I... ever... you know?"

I could see Dean shooting me a few jealous looks from across the room. _Poor boy_, Amanda had sure worked him over, well and good. I turned back my attention to the sultry vixen that was Amanda Darrieux, and answered her question with one word.

"MacLeod."

She sighed wistfully, "The man does cast a pretty big shadow..."

That he did.

Amanda wrapped her arms around me lightly, practically climbing over the table, causing Dean's looks from across the room to become even more baleful.

"We could have been really good... you and me." she leered at me and went to cup my face with her hand.

"No."

I grabbed her hand before it could reach it's goal. This caused her to pout, to which I grinned back and kissed the top of her hand, "We could have been _great_."

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I sat in the Impala outside the museum. I glanced over at Sam who was in the driver's seat. He seemed... _fidgety_. Oddly so.

"Feeling alright, Sam?" I glanced at him, calculatingly.

His head spun to me and I could see they were blood shot, and looking at me in surprise like he'd forgotten I was even there. I felt a sense of dread creeping into my gut. Just what was going on with him?

"Yeah," he ran a hand through his hair, "Why wouldn't I be?"

I frowned, "No reason, I guess."

I went back to looking at the museum, but my head was still mulling over the mystery problem that seemed to be plaguing my young friend. He seemed to be going through.... well, _withdrawal_. But that didn't make much sense to me. Sam Winchester didn't even smoke, let along do drugs.

My thoughts strayed to the demon Ruby and Sam's worrying ability to rip demons from the possessed, and my gut churned in worry. I shook my head and returned to my thoughts to the museum. Dean and Amanda had been in the museum for a good thirty minutes.

"How did you meet Amanda?" Sam asked me, suddenly.

With out missing a beat I answered, "She dated a friend of mine."

Half-truth. I'd gotten to know her better while with MacLeod, yes. But I'd actually met Amanda back in 851 AD in her mentor's abbey, albeit briefly.

I'd sought shelter on the holy ground of Rebecca's abbey to hide from Kronos, who'd been tracking me all across Europe, after having seen me in what was modern day Turin, Italy. But the fiery red-head, Rebbecca, had promptly kicked me out of my ass, refusing to let me mooch off of her and simultaneously lead Kronos right to her abbey. So, I'd quickly fled to Tibet, but not before Amanda had tried to relieve me of my hard earned coinage.

"Do you trust her?" Sam leaned forward to watch the museum as well.

"_Sam_... I don't trust anybody." Had he completely forgot their earlier conversation? I sighed. "And I trust Amanda even less."

He looked over to me with surprise, "Then why'd you bring her on with this?"

"Well, for a start, she knows that I don't trust her." I shrugged, "Second, she doesn't trust me either. She betrays me now, _well... _I may just do something to make her regret it."

Sam clearly didn't get it, "If you don't trust each other, how are you two friends?"

Immortal friendship was certainly a complex thing, that was for sure. His with Amanda, even more so than most.

"We have a mutual respect for each others innate ability to be manipulative bastards." I answered simply.

"You keep insisting you're this terrible person, Methos. But I just don't see it. Maybe you did things a long time ago but... I don't know." Sam shook his head.

"Hmm... just goes to show that my manipulation is working, doesn't it?" I looked over to him, amusement in my eyes.

It was a jest, but _entirely true_, just the same. Sam had nothing to fear from me right now, but who knew what tomorrow would bring.

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My eyes had been starting to close on me when, I caught sight of Dean sprinting to the Impala. I shot up in my seat.

Where was Amanda?

Dean practically pulled Sam out of the driver's seat. He turned to glare at me rubbing his head in pain, "That bitch took off with the diamond, and knocked me out!" He slammed the door, "It's Bela all over again! Dammit! Methos, I'm hating you more every day!"

I cursed under my breath. Clearly I'd misjudged Amanda. I'd make her pay for this. Just when I'd started getting in Dean's good graces...

Sam spoke from the back seat, "Wait."

Both Dean and myself whipped our heads back to look at Sam who was in the throws of an idea.

"Yeah, Sammy?" Dean asked gruffly, still sour about being knocked out by Amanda.

"What if the spirit is influencing her? What if...?" Sam looked at them wide eyed, "The building!"

Shit.

Dean slammed the keys into the ignition, "On it!"

He peeled out of the parking space toward the office building where all the suicides had taken place. I just hoped we got there before Amanda jumped. Or else I'd have a lot of explaining to do.

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_**A/n: And yes the conversation between Methos and Amanda about why they never hooked up was shamelessly pilfered from the Highlander: Reunion straight to DVD thing done in 2008. I believe it's on Hulu if you haven't seen it.**_


	18. Chapter 18

_**Disclaimer: Not mine**_

_**A/n: This wasn't even what I originally intended to happen in this chapter, it just sort of came to me... and I liked it, so I decided to stick with it. Its like the story is writing itself or something. Ooooo... oooooo! BOO! Uh... right, anyway. Enjoy.  
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My legs were burning as I raced up the stairwell to the building's roof, Sam and Dean were right on my heels. I could feel an Immortal buzz at the back of my head and knew that Amanda was close. I burst onto the roof, shotgun in hand. What I saw stopped me in my tracks.

Amanda was writhing on the ground screaming bloody murder. Her eyes opened and black orbs were staring right back at me.

Sam and Dean nearly ran right into my back and their own shotguns lifted quickly to point at her.

The demon wearing Amanda's body climbed to her feet shakily, looked ready to speak but with what looked to be great difficulty. Suddenly, the blackness drained from her eyes like sands from an hourglass.

What I assumed to be Amanda herself, managed to pant out, "I-- Me-Methos? I can't--"

Then she let out a blood curdling scream that had me clutching my ears. There was a flash like I'd seen when the Winchester's knife pierced into a demon, killing it. The screaming stopped and Amanda collapsed on the ground in a heap.

My ears where still wringing when Dean asked the operative question, "What. The Hell. Was that?"

Sam rushed over to Amanda and slid down to the ground reaching his fingers to her neck searching for a pulse. I felt my stomach lurch when his forlorn expression turned back to us.

"She's dead."

"Oh,_ is_ she?" An arrogant and gravelly voice drawled from behind us. I spun around and fired upon the owner of the voice.

A demon, wearing a man about mid thirties with grizzled morning stubble and black hair. He shrugged off the buck shot like he'd only recieved a mild shove. His expression was both cruel and gleeful, as he looked upon the three of us. His eyes flashed white. _Alastair._

The boys were beside me in a flash, Dean had the enchanted knife in hand as he growled at the demon, "What the Hell is going on? What did you do to Amanda?"

Alastair's stare leveled on Dean, "'_What the Hell_?' Interesting choice of words, _Dean_." He glanced to the door as five demons came out onto the roof to join them, he gestured his head to us, "Grab them."

A demon advanced on me and I fired on it sending him reeling backward. Then another was on me, it fist connected solidly with my jaw. Alastair was just standing there laughing, not even bothering to use his considerable power to apprehend us himself.

Why the demon squad? A distraction, maybe? But why? Who needed distracting? We weren't exactly a match for him... my eyes caught Sam from across the roof.

_Sam could stop him._

He was distracting Sam then. But from what?

My head swung to the 'dead' Amanda. She'd hadn't woken up yet. There was a demon heading in her direction. She had an object that I couldn't seem to focus on in her hand. Suddenly, an arm wrapped itself around my neck in a choke hold causing me to drop my shot gun, "S-Sam!" I strangled out, "Stop her! Amand--!" My voice was cut off by the demon gripping my windpipe.

Sam's head snapped from the demon he'd been focused on to the one heading towards Amanda's still form. He nodded in understanding and went to try and stop whatever the demon had planned for what Sam assumed was Amanda's corpse. Sam ducked under a clumsy attack from his would be assailant and sprinted in the direction. Dean had his full attention on a blond haired woman, after having successful cut down one of the other demons with the knife.

My head whipped backward, breaking the nose of the demon holding me and his grip lessened. He was stronger than me, but I wasn't exactly inexperienced in fighting stronger opponents. I'd had trouble last time I fought a demon, but I'd been in a confined room and also distracted worrying over protecting Pam, as I had been before

I slid from his grasp and pivoted to a position behind him, before he could recover from the blow to his face I leaped on his back in a standard grappling position. He roared and cursed at me and I ignored it, successfully bringing him to the ground. I gripped the man's head in my hands and began to chant.

The _old ways_ were the best ways.

I recited one of many mantras I recalled from the old Hindu Atharvaveda. It was the fourth book of the old Vedic Sanskrit texts-- one of the oldest remaining scriptures in Hinduism. This specific mantra I had been lost for... oh, I don't know... a century. Or was it ten?

Not only was it meant to exorcise demons, it was meant to kill them.

The demon struggled and began to howl beneath me, unable to break free of my hold.

"That's enough of _that_." Alastair cut me off mid-mantra forcing my mouth to slam shut. I could feel blood begin to pool right below where I'd bitten into my tongue. It had already started to heal when my body was forcefully pried from the demon by an unseen force and I was splayed rather unbecomingly against a wall. Dean wasn't far behind me.

Sam was... I scanned the roof in a panic. Where was Sam? Then, I saw him step out from behind a wall across from us, just behind where Amanda was still lying on the ground. He didn't seem injured... but I wasn't sure if he was exactly... unharmed in some way or another...

"What are you doing here, Alastair?" Sam demanded lividly.

A knife slid into Alastair's hand and was brought right up to Dean's throat.

"Sam, if you so much as lift a finger, I'll slit your big brother's throat." That stopped the youngest Winchester in his tracks, "As too what I'm doing here..." he clucked his tongue, and shook his head over to Amanda, "I'm here for the little Immortal slut over there."

"Immortal?" Dean repeated in surprise, "But, she's dead..."

"She does make a rather convincing corpse, I agree." Alastair pulled Dean along with him. the knife never straying from his throat, "But..."

As if on cue, Amanda let out a loud gasp as she came back to life.

Sam's eyes widened and then were suddenly focused on me. They were full of unspoken accusations. I just stared back, unabashed. I couldn't do much about it at the moment. If we made it out of this, I'm sure I'd never hear the end of it. I wasn't looking forward to that particular confrontation. But it was preferable to death, certainly.

"Gah!" Amanda pulled herself to her feet, "Methos, darling, you so owe me! How about you give me the location of a few of Butch and Sundance's secret caches--" Amanda was dusting herself off when she saw Alastair standing in front of her with Dean at his mercy, "Oh."

Alastair grinned, "_Oh_."

"What's going on?" Sam growled.

The demon looked to Sam and then gave me a sidelong glance, "What, he didn't tell you? Hmm... somethings never change, do they?" I just glared daggers at him in response, "Always did keep things rather close to the chest, eh, old friend?"

"Old _friend_?" It was Dean's turn to glare at me.

_Bloody_ fantastic.

Alastair adjusted the blade at Dean's neck drawing a little blood, "No one said you could talk." He turned his sights on Amanda, "Now, back to the point." he pulled out the object that the other demon had previously been trying to get close to Amanda. It hurt my eyes to look at it, but I forced myself to anyway. The mystery vial gave off a feint glow. It caused a painful buzzing in the back of my skull, a thousand-fold more powerful than an Immortal buzz.

I couldn't hold in my gasp when I realized what it was.

"_No_..."

Alastair rose and eyebrow and tossed the vial haphazardly in his palm, "_Yes_."

"What is that? Who are you?" Amanda's eyes went to the object, clearly drawn to it, then she looked to me, "Methos?"

"Didn't tell her, either?" Alastair tsked, "Now, now. That's hardly brotherly behavior, _Azrael_."

All eyes were on me now, even the other remaining demons. Dean and Sam were... well let's just say '_if looks could kill_', I'd be in serious trouble. I wondered if we did survives this, if I would survive their wrath. Might have to make a run for it. I could probably leap off the building and resurrect before the made it down the stairs...

"Brother?" Amanda repeated and laughed out loud, "Look, buddy I don't know what you're on about. Methos is not my..." her mouth was snapped closed by Alastair.

"_Shut. Up_. I'm not returning _this_ to you because I like you or anything,_ bitch_. In fact. I kind of _hate_ you." His gaze seared into Amanda, then he gave a dismissive shrug, "But a seal is a seal."

"Seal?" Sam's teeth ground together, he looked ready to pounce.

Alastair licked his lips, "Oh, yeah. _'A Watcher's Grace returned on the site of great iniquity after an act of sin.'_ And let me tell you, _this_--" he shook the vial in his hand, "was_ not_ an easy thing to get. And just my luck that we got her_ Grace_. I mean, this bitch--" he gestured to Amanda, "commits sins like a fish swims. Easy thing to get her to steal something. And while a demon can't posses one of the fallen for long without dieing-- I may have forgotten to mention that to the poor dear who took her over. Whoops!-- she did manage to get her here. You see, the haunting of the necklace was a ruse. Which you fell for hook, line, and sinker." he turned to address me, amicably, "The death of the hooker did happen. And her spirit is on the necklace. Benign though, she just gives hand jobs to unsuspecting passersby. Good story behind her death. Maybe I'll tell it to you sometime."

Amanda mumbled in protest still unable to open her mouth, her eyes were darting from Alastair to the vial to then finally to me, her eyes begging for an explanation for what was going on.

"A _Watcher?_ Like the choir of Angels?" Sam asked.

"I'm impressed, Sammy. Smarty pants." Alastair sniffed, "Alright. Lesson over. Now! On to the Grand Finale." he brought the vial upward, then glanced to me and winked devilishly, "Thanks, by the way. Knew you'd get the bitch to come."

My eyes widened at the words. He was trying to make it sound like I'd brought Amanda in on purpose! Divide and conquer. If I really had taught this demon while I was Death, apparently I'd taught him well.

Anger seethed in me, "You do it, Alastair, and I promise you that if I ever do get my Grace back, you'll be the first _thing _I kill, you pitiful sack of _shit_!"

Alastair faltered to look in my direction, he looked concerned for a moment but it quickly passed, "I guess we'll just see about that. Won't we?"

A bright flash caught my eye and it distracted Alastair as well. Dean took advantage of his distraction and slipped away from the knife at his neck. Castiel advanced on the demon from just beside Amanda.

Amanda just gaped like a fish at the the man who'd appeared out of nowhere.

Alastair roared in frustration and threw the vial quickly. My breath caught in my throat. It soared through the air... then it was caught just before it hit the ground.

Amanda had caught it. She just stared at it in awe in the palm of her hand, blinking in confusion. I didn't get to spend too much time analyzing her reaction because then Alastair was flying in my direction from a powerful punch delivered by Castiel. I rolled out of the way.

"Certainly took your fucking time, Cas!" I growled out in frustration as the Angel passed by me.

He gave me a unreadable glance in passing, "_Sorry_."

Castiel looked toward Alastair who was recovering from the blow. The demon took a running start at the Angel knocking him into a metal beam, bending in nearly in two. I quickly shuffled over to Amanda. She was staring at the vial and barely even noticed me. It didn't seem like she had any intent to smash it, so I didn't try to take it from her, lest I accidentally smash it in the myself. I just pulled her to the side away from the fighting demon and Angel. The moment the other demons had seen Castiel they'd fled their bodies like scared little puppies with their tails between their legs.

I nearly tripped over something at my feet that had been stashed around the corner of an outcropping of the building, while I'd started to pull Amanda to safety. I looked down with a frown.

It was the body of one of the possessed. The one that had been going after Amanda before Sam had went to stop her. I blinked, noticing a knife wound that had pierced one of the woman's arteries. Odd, there should have been more bleeding with a wound like that. I knelt down to look at the corpse thoughtfully and touched the wound on the jugular, tentatively. There was some blood smeared around the wound and I could see a bloody hand print on the woman's shirt. Curiouser and curiouser.

"Sammy... what were you doing?" I murmured to myself.

My attention snapped up when I caught the struggled gasp of Alastair. Sam was standing there, his hand stretched out to the demon. He was held in place. Castiel was breathing heavy and slightly bloodied watching Sam with an intent and surprised expression.

"You ain't got the power to exorcise me, boy." Alastair growled.

Sam's gaze turned feral, "You're wrong. I can do more than that. Now, I can_ kill."_

I watched in horrified fascination as Sam made Alastair whimper and then scream. His mouth opened and he attempted to leave his body, but the black smoke stuck in the man's mouth and was sucked right back in. Alastair looked terrified and then a electric shock ran through his body and he collapsed to the ground limp.

I was worried about Sam and what exactly he was doing to himself, but I couldn't help but feel some manner of regret that I hadn't gotten the honor of killing the demon myself.

It was deathly silent on the roof top after that. Could practically hear the crickets.

Castiel was staring at Sam. Dean was glaring daggers at me, and sparing the occasional worried glance to Sam. Amanda was staring at her Grace. I was... well, I was looking at everyone and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Amanda obliged, still looking at the vial speculatively.

"_So._.. someone want to tell me what the Hell just happened? And i don't know... just what the Hell _this_ is?"


	19. Chapter 19

_A/n: Hey guys sorry for the delay. Had some RL things to do. And other stories to update. It's short, but I wanted to give you something.  
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"Explain yourself now, if you'd like your brain-matter to stay where it is." Dean growled his shotgun pointed squarely at my head.

Jump off the building. Or don't jump off the building. Jump off the building...

"I only just found out, Dean." My voice was smooth and calm, quite the opposite of my true feelings.

Jump off the building, or don't jump off...

"Found out what, Methos?" Amanda eyed me and then stole a glance to Castiel, who was appraising the situation in his standard stoic manner, "And who's _he_?"

Castiel's head tilted to assess Amanda, "I am Castiel." He took a slow step toward her, "And I need you to give me that vial, Amanda."

"How do you know my name?!?" She glared at him suspiciously, then toward me again, now at the point of hysterics, "How does he know my name?!?"

"You know the answer to that, Amanda." Castiel reached out for the vial, still in her hand, "Please... give that to me..."

"No!" Amanda pulled it close against her chest protectively, "Not until I know what's going on!"

"Yes, that would be nice." Dean growled out, still glaring at me and fingering the trigger of his gun.

To jump, or not to jump? That is the question...

"Immortals are Fallen Angels, alright!" I burst out, and threw my hands up in the air, doing my best to look flustered and helpless, "There I said it! Happy? Can we go now?"

_**"No!"**_ Amanda and Dean both responded simultaneously.

Sam was hiding out in the background. I suspected that he didn't want any of the attention to be on him. He didn't want anyone to question how he'd offed Alastair so easily, was my guess. Although he did spare the time from his hiding to glare daggers at me, same as his brother.

"So, both you and Amanda are... Angels?" Sam supplied in disbelief.

"_Fallen_ Angels." Castiel interjected with a twinge of superiority.

"_Cas?_ You _knew_?" Dean's eyes widened and turned to the Angel, but not taking nearly enough attention away from me as I'd hoped.

"I did." he nodded, "But... I was instructed not to reveal Methos' identity as Azreal to you, as it would distract you from your mission. And he appeared to be helping you in your cause to stop the seals from being broken. Although... I had _hoped_ he would tell you himself, eventually." He glanced in my direction, somewhat accusingly.

"Oh, I'm so-orry!" I rolled my eyes, even though sarcasm probably wasn't the best thing to employ right now, considering my precarious position, "Next time I'll be _sure_ to tell _everyone_ I meet how I may or may not be a fallen psychopathic killer angel who'll help bring upon the End of Days... I'm sure it'll make me killer at parties..."

Castiel ignored my comment and continued to explain, while Dean gave me a cursory warning nudge with his gun.

"We are not meant to interfere with the Grigori. Under normal circumstances... for any Angel to interact with them directly is considered forbidden. Me being here now, speaking to not one, but_ two_... is unorthodox to say the least. However, it had to be done for the sake of the seals. And to protect you, Dean."

Amanda scoffed, "Well, screw you buddy! You make it sound like I have a disease or something."

Castiel bristled, no doubt considering whether or not to say_ 'Yes, in fact you do. And thy disease is sin!' _Or, well, something along those lines, I'm sure...

"You're Azreal? _THE_ Angel of Death..._** himself**_?" Sam finally took a step toward the center of attention. He came in front of Dean and his shotgun, to fix me with a cross between his standard puppy dog eyes and ones that promised an impending beating. How he managed such contradictory emotions in one glace, I wasn't sure. But he seemed to do quite a good job at it.

"_Sam_..." I sighed, "I've certainly done plenty of things in my life worthy of scorn, but you're angry at me for something I don't even remember." I drew a frustrated hand threw my hair, "And I certainly don't care to remember. I _still_ don't want the seals broken. Because I don't know what that would mean for me if they were. Would I still be me if I became Death? I honestly don't care to find out. And Alastair was simply trying to provoke you when he implied I brought Amanda here to break a seal. I'm actually quite fond of the human race, at the moment, so condemning them to Hell on Earth isn't exactly my idea of a good time."

Sam's jaw tightened and he looked away from me.

**_Wait_**, had I actually won that argument? Was I going to avoid the painful task of scraping myself off the pavement of the parking lot below? I hadn't thought it would be that...

Suddenly my jaw decided it rather liked being unattached with the rest of my skull and I fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Sam stood there rubbing his bruised knuckles and looked down at me.

"You know what, Methos? I'm thinking that maybe I'm going to finally start taking your advice." the younger Winchester's eyes turned cold, "I promise **_never_** to trust you, again."

Dean kept silent watch over the confrontation, but clearly shared his brother's sentiment.

I reset my jaw with a loud crack, and spoke despite the pain of it, "...I'm s-sorry, Sam. Even if I can't help who I am."

"You always have an excuse, don't you?" Sam growled out, his fist tightening again for another swing.

"Yes, I suppose I do." I wiped the blood from my lips, then looked up to him thoughtfully, "And you do too. Don't you, Sam?"

The kid looked taken aback. I gave him a self-satisfied smirk.

"Or did you honestly believe you're doing what you are, only for the sake of beating Lilith?"

"Shut your mouth." Sam's eyes flared dangerously and he looked ready to pop a blood vessel.

"Well! As much fun as this show of male testosterone is, boys... do you think maybe we could just talk this over peacefully with a nice bottle of Merlot... possibly a Cabernet?" Amanda chuckled nervously, still clutching the vial in her hand, but not openly acknowledging its existence.

"Amanda is correct. It would be best to take this confrontation elsewhere. More demons may show up, and if we do not leave we risk the seal being broken." Castiel eyed the vial in Amanda's hand. It was clear he wanted to take it from her, but was loathe to force it from her grasp.

Dean grumbled.

"Fine. Well go somewhere else and figure out what we're gonna do. In the mean time... Sammy? Go get the rope out of the trunk," his eyes gleamed, "we're gonna hogtie us an Angel of Death."

Oh, bloody fantastic.


	20. Chapter 20

_**Disclaimer: Not mine**_

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"You know, I can't help thinking that if I had never saved your father from that aswang... I could be lounging on beach somewhere. Maybe Santorini, talking a nice long sip of Tsipouro...." I mused, as the Winchesters tied my hands around a chair.

"Honestly boys, is this really necessary? I know the old man can be a pain, but I'm sure he had a good reason for not telling you. Lord knows I wouldn't have." Amanda offered her two cents from where she was sipping on some red wine, the vial still in her possession.

Some friend she was. Amanda hardly looked all that distraught over them tying me up and threatening to kill me. Perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised. Amanda was as self-centered as I was. And she currently had a lot on her mind in regards to herself. Notably, she had a faraway look in her eye as she turned the vial over with her hand. Castiel had gone off to report to the other Angels, although he had been somewhat reluctant leaving Amanda with her grace... but the danger had passed for breaking the seal, so he'd risked leaving it in her care if only for a very short time. She given him a muttered promise that she wouldn't break it. But it wasn't like the woman was above lying.

Dean and Sam ignored them. The eldest Winchester pulled out his cell phone and looked to Sam, "Bobby's safe-house good place to keep him, you think?

"Sounds perfect." Sam agreed, as Dean walked off to, presumably, call Bobby.

Sam rubbed the bridge of his nose and took a seat across from me his shotgun not far away from his person.

I shifted in my bindings and looked over at Sam speculatively, "So... how did it start, Sammy? Was it Ruby, who showed you?"

His head snapped up to glare at me, "I don't know what you're talking about."

I was done playing games.

"You know_ exactly_ what I'm talking about, Sam."

"Well, I sure don't." Amanda slurred over what was her fifth glass of wine in the past half-hour.

I ignored her, and leveled Sam with a look which let the entirety of my age show in my eyes. Sam leaned back from me in surprise.

"I have had an overwhelming amount of patience with you, your brother, and Hell, even your father. But I'm afraid that patience is wearing thin. I've done _nothing_ but help you ungrateful bastards from day one. And now you spit in my face because I didn't tell you who I_ 'used'_ to be, despite the fact that I don't remember it, and all that _should_ matter is who I am _now._ Because that person has only ever helped you..." I was seething now.

"But you lied to us! You're the Angel of Death!" He yelled at me right back.

Amanda was watching the two of us over her glass, a scowl deepening on her face.

"Sam Winchester, you have no **_right_** to call _me_ a liar!" I practically growled out the words causing Sam to grip his gun, "And before you go and telling me that _'you don't know what I'm talking about'_, realize that... yes, I am Death. So, yes, I'm not someone you should **_fuck_** with. And I am far from_** stupid**._"

I tried to contain my anger at him as I continued, but as I'd said, my patience with the Winchesters was running thin.

"I saw that demon back there on the roof that was drained of blood. And I know that you gain your powers from the demon blood in your veins. It doesn't take much in the way deductive skills to figure out what's going on here."

"_Ew_." Amanda made a face from her spot at the table.

"Shut up, Amanda." I snapped.

She pulled a face, then put up her hands in defeat, "God. You are such an old grouch, Methos."

Sam's face had paled considerably once he realized just what I knew. He sputtered, "It's the only way to defeat Lilith..."

"The most expedient and readily available, perhaps. But surely not the **_only_** way. And certainly not the wisest. Just like the fastest way to solve the conflict in the Middle East would be to blow the entire thing up with giant nuclear weapon. It would certainly solve the problem. No one can fight each other if they're all dead..."

"But I **_have_** to be strong enough to beat her... how else am I going to do it?" He implored, trying to make me see the truth that he did.

"I don't know, Sam. And who said that it had to be you, anyway?" I asked him, honestly.

Sam reeled at the unexpected question, "I... no one did... but I have to..."

"You have to? Why?"

"She sent Dean to Hell. She's breaking the seals... who else but me?" Sam told me like it was rather obvious.

"First of all, killing Lilith won't take the pain Dean suffered in Pit away from him. Second, revenge is a dirty concept that won't bring you any satisfaction. Third.... didn't the Angel's bring **_Dean_** back because _**he**_ was the one to stop this, _**not ****you**_?"

Sam got angry again, "Dean's not strong enough. I am."

"Are you even listening me?" I sighed.

"You do tend to get kind of preachy, Methos. Honestly, even I started tuning you out after you talked about nuking the Middle East..." Amanda muttered.

I turned my full attention back on Sam after sparing Amanda a scathing glance.

I wasn't above playing dirty. I was sick and tired of being tied up and threatened by these two.

"I've spoken my piece, Sam. But... I'll leave you with this. If you don't find a way to convince Dean not to lock me up in Bobby's basement... I'm telling him exactly what you and your demon girlfriend have been getting up to when he hasn't been around. And then perhaps we'll be sharing that cell together..."


	21. Chapter 21

_**Disclaimer: Seriously, its not mine. So, stop asking. ;)  
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Dean was glowering in the corner while Sam was speaking to him. I sighed and gladly accepted the glass of wine Amanda pushed in my direction.

I don't know what Sam had told Dean, and really at this point I didn't really care. What I did care about is that my manipulation of Sam worked and I was no longer tied up, and I was longer on my way to spend quality time in someone else's basement. Although, whatever Sam had told Dean may have convinced him to let me go, it sure hadn't lowered Dean's guard around me, essentially putting me back at square one when it came to him.

And I was pretty sure I was now at absolutely no squares with Sam.

I was also sure that Dean was suspicious of Sam's motives. He wasn't oblivious to the changes happening in Sam. He knew something was wrong with him, he just didn't know what it was. It was sure going to be fun traveling with them now. What with the obvious tension between them and the fact that they both hated my guts.

So, essentially... it was going to be just like a family road trip.

I just hoped I could convince Sam to stop drinking that demon blood, and thereby halt his deterioration before it led somewhere devastating. And if I saw Ruby again, I wasn't going to hesitate in killing her. I'd just need to steal that knife...

"So... Angels, huh?" Amanda said simply and then took a large sip of her drink.

"Yup." I took a seat across from her and rubbed at my eyes.

"Every Immortal... was at one point an Angel?" she murmured setting her grace in front of her and staring at it. Being this close to it made my heart ache... so I couldn't even begin to imagine what it was doing to her.

"'Fraid so." I sighed.

"Almost makes me feel guilty for stealing the papal tiara from the Vatican and replacing it with a fake...." she gave a forced smile, "Almost."

I chuckled going along with her attempt at levity, even though I knew she was at the point of a breakdown.

"So, what now? Are you going to tell Mac?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"Of course not. Duncan's broody enough as it is, without throwing this into the mix. I don't even think I can deal with this, let alone MacLeod. It would kill him."

I could tell that this news was really affecting her more than she let on. But, I had to admit a bit of selfishness in the matter. Because I was happy she knew. That someone knew. That I had someone to share this burden.

I nodded solemnly, "I suppose you're right."

"Of course I am, old man. I'm always right."

I laughed, "That's... debatable."

"Jerk."

"Well, I try."

* * *

It was a thirty minutes later when Castiel returned. He wasn't in the room for more than five seconds before Amanda had gotten up to stand in front of him her grace in hand.

I stood up and watched her, warily. What was she doing? Castiel looked equally flummoxed by her determined expression.

"Castiel?" she spoke in a serious tone I seldom heard grace her lips.

"Yes?" He rose an expectant brow.

Her hand gripped around the vial, "Can you... make me forget?"

Castiel's expression became sympathetic, and he responded solemnly, "Yes."

Amanda grabbed the Angel's hand and slapped the vial into his hand, "Then do it."

I felt my heart sink when I realized what she was doing.

"Amanda?" My voice sounded uncharacteristically desperate.

Her eyes turned to me and I could see that there were tears forming around her eyes, "I'm sorry, Methos... I just... I _can't_..."

My shoulders slumped. I could understand where she was coming from, really, I could. This revelation was eating at me too, but I could never bring myself to just _forget_ about it. I thrived on knowledge and knowing the world around me. Amanda though, she was different... always lived in the now and thrived in the excitement of life. And knowing what had been taken from her, was apparently too much for her to bare and continue on with that way of life.

And I'm sure she was just as reluctant as I was about getting her grace returned and simply smashing the vial, because, like me, she didn't know if she'd still be the same person if that happend.

So yes, I could understand... but that didn't mean I had to be happy about it. I'd wanted someone to confide in and she was taking that from me.

Suddenly Amanda's arms wrapped around me in a tight embrace. I returned it, clinging to her desperately. She whispered into my ear that she was sorry, and I could tell that she meant it. Amanda pulled back from me, but kept her hands in mine.

"Are you sure, Amanda...? I..."

She leveled me with an earnest look of sympathy, "I can't carry this, Methos. It's too much. I'm not like you. I'm not strong enough..."

I think she put far too much weight on my abilities. I didn't feel particularly strong at the moment. I mean I was begging for God's sake! Since when did I beg...?

I nodded, trying not to look too dejected by her decision. She gave me a tiny smile, then laid a kiss on my cheek before pulling away from me.

"You take care of yourself, old man."

She turned to Dean and Sam who had come over from their spot near the wall.

"And you two do the same." Amanda smiled. "And a word of advice from the 1000 year old chick?" she gave Sam meaningful look before addressing the both of them, "You really should listen to the old guy. He usually knows what he's talking about... even if he doesn't have to be so damn smug about it."

I smirked at the back-handed compliment. Typical Amanda.

She hugged Sam and then turned to Dean.

"Bye, Amanda." Dean gave her a non-committal shrug.

She eyed him with a shake of her head.

"That the best you can do, Dean? Hmmphh, men! Can't get something done right, gonna have to do it yourself."

Amanda grabbed the collar of his jacket with both hands and pulled Dean toward her, planting a passionate kiss on his lips. After a momentary bout of surprise, Dean gladly returned the gesture. And after what was an awkwardly long stretch of time for Sam, Castiel and myself, they finally separated from one another.

She turned away from the boys and went back to Castiel who was watching her with rapt attention.

"Are you ready?" he asked calmly.

Amanda smiled devilishly, "Well, there is one more thing..."

"What is th--?" Castiel started to ask, but was cut off my Amanda's lips on his.

He stiffened at the intimate contact, and I could hear Sam and Dean try to muffle their amusement beneath their hands.

It was followed soon after by Dean commenting, "Dude, isn't she like technically making out with her _brother_?"

I couldn't stop myself from bursting out into full-throated laughter.


	22. Chapter 22

_**Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke and Highlander to George Widen**_

_**A/n: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and tracked this story. It makes me really happy when I see the little notices in my email! :) **_

_**A/n: This chapter and following ones are basically just the Supernatural episode 'The Monster at the End of the Book' retold with Methos in it. So obviously a lot of the dialogue is the same. Its also why this chapter is so much longer than others have been. Not sure how AU its really going to wind up being later on, mainly because I really liked this episode the way it was, I do have some things in mind, though. The next chapter will be less dialogue straight from the episode, with more interaction between Methos and Chuck, mainly because that premise makes me laugh. Oh, and before I forget... I don't have a problem with slash or anything. That one part is totally from the series, so don't hate me for it! :) Cause it's funny. ;)  
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The Winchesters entered the comic book store in front of me. I followed lazily behind them. I could see Dean watching me carefully from the corner of his eye in order to make sure I wasn't about to run off. He was right to worry too, because I had been honestly considering it ever since Fort Worth.

_What_ about the Apocalypse, you say?

Yeah, well... color me a self-centered bastard, because there was only so much abuse I could take regardless of what was at stake. And I couldn't exactly help the Winchesters if they were going to question me at every turn, could I? I'd have more chance of doing some good on my own.

Or, I'd at least have more time to dig out my own little hidey-hole to wait out the shit storm.

Sam and Dean went up to the counter to question the clerk about the latest reported haunting, leaving me to rifle idly through the collection of Frank Miller comics at the front of the store. Excuse me, _'graphic novels'_. I chuckled to myself, Tolstoy, eat you're heart out.

"Ah, '300'." I grabbed the graphic novel from the shelf.

I flipped through the pages smirking at the imaginative retelling of the Battle of Thermopylae. I suppose calling it _'300 Spartans, 700 Thespians & 400 Thebans' _didn't have quite the same ring to it.

Funny, I didn't remember Xerxes being quite so... _effeminate_. Leonidas on the other hand...

I heard Dean clear his throat, causing me to pull my gaze out of the comic, to see him holding a box full of what look to be a series of books. He looked at me expectantly, so I set the comic down, and he shoved the box into my arms.

I looked down to inspect one of the covers, curiously. It was a series called _'Supernatural'_ by someone named Carver Edlund.

There were two bare chested men on the cover. I rose an eyebrow at Dean a grin forming on my lips, "I didn't take you as one for romance novels, Winchester."

"Oh, hardy har-har. You're a regular laugh riot, Methos. Now shut up at take those the the car." He glared at me and ushered me out the door.

* * *

"So, all of these books are about your life?" I scoffed and grabbed one off the pile. It was called '_Wendingo_'.

Dean was laid over the bed with one of the books in hand.

"This is freakin' insane. How's this guy know all this stuff?" Dean scoffed.

I had to admit it was rather unsettling. I was just glad I wasn't the subject of these stories... at least... I hoped I wasn't. The last one ended with Dean going to Hell, and I hadn't played much of a role in the boys lives before that. Aside from being Sam's adviser in college. I frowned and quickly grabbed the first book in the series, where Sam's girlfriend had been murdered by the yellow-eyed demon back at Stanford.

I gave it a quick skim, and saw no mention of me... and I felt a bit of comfort in that. I'd have to read it more carefully later, just to be sure.

Sam shrugged "You got me."

"Everything is in here. I mean _everything_. From the racist truck, to me having sex. I'm full-frontal in here." Dean shut the book in his hand and made his way over to Sam at his computer, "How come we haven't heard of them before?"

"They're pretty obscure. I mean, almost zero circulation. Uh, started in '05. The publisher put out a couple dozen before going bankrupt." He turned his laptop around to show us the website for the books.

"I reiterate. _Freaking insane_. Check it out. There's actually fans. There's not many of them, but still. Did you read this?" Dean sat in front of the computer and scrolled down the page.

Sam gave an uncomfortable wince, "Yeah."

"Although for fans, they sure do complain a lot. Listen to this – Simpatico says '_The demon story line is trite, cliche'd, and overall craptastic._' Yeah, well, screw you, Simpatico. We lived it." Dean looked like he was considering tracking this Simpatico down and kicking his ass.

I peered over Dean's shoulder to read on. My eyes caught something rather amusing at the bottom of the screen and I had to contain myself from cackling hysterically.

Dean eventually got to it, "There are _'Sam Girls'_ and _'Dean Girls_' and -- what's a _'Slash_ Fan'?"

"As in... Sam-_slash_-Dean," Sam gave a bemused look, "_together_."

"Like, _together_ together?" Dean looked equally horrified.

Sam gave a forced smile, "Yeah."

"They do know we're brothers, right?" Dean stared at the computer screen, almost afraid to look at Sam after the revelation that people were imagining them sleeping together.

"Doesn't seem to matter." Sam crossed his arms uncomfortably.

"Oh, come on! That... That's just sick." Dean closed the offending laptop and pushed it away.

I had to take of my leave to the corner of the room to wipe away my tears of laughter. Maybe this particular hunt wasn't going to be so bad. When I found this Carver Edlund, I might just have to hug him.

Unless, he was writing about me, of course. Then we might have words.

* * *

Meeting with the publisher of the books had been a disturbing experience to say the least. The skunk-haired woman was apparently a _'big-fan' _of the Supernatural books, if the tattoo on her ass was anything to go by.

Carver Edlund had been a pen name, so they'd needed to talk to her in order to get his real name. The fact that this woman had such intimate knowledge of Sam and Dean's lives made me insanely glad I didn't seem to feature in these books at all. They gave far too much away, more than I was willing to part with to anyone, let alone a stranger.

Edlund, as it turned out was really some guy names Chuck Shurley. I could see now why he'd gone with the pen name.

The boys seemed reluctant to go to the door, so I found myself ahead of them. I was curious to meet this man and find out if he knew anything about me. And if he did, if he could keep his mouth shut about it.

Just as I was pushing the doorbell, Sam and Dean came up beside me. A minute later a disheveled man in a bathrobe answered the door. He blinked several times at the bright morning sun and then peered at the three of us.

I crossed my arms and glanced at the boys, then to the man appraising, "Are you Charles Shirley?"

"The Chuck Shurley who wrote the _'Supernatural'_ books?" Sam clarified.

A perturbed look crossed the man's face, then he became suspicious.

"_Maybe_. Why?"

Dean pushed past me, "I'm Dean." he gestured to his brother, "This is Sam. The Dean and Sam you've been writing about."

Chuck's suspicion instantly turned to annoyance and he deflated with a sigh, "Look... I appreciate your enthusiasm. Really, I do. It's-- it's always nice to hear from the fans. But, uh, for your own good, I strongly suggest you get a life."

He went to close the door, but Dean shoved his foot in the door.

Dean face turned murderous, "See, here's the thing. We _have _a life. You've been using it to write your books."

Chuck backed away in panic as the boys pushed their way in, "Now, wait a minute. This isn't funny!"

Sam and Dean argued with him for several minutes about their existence while Chuck continued to look at them like they were a set of highly disturbed psychopaths.

"Is this some kind of _'Misery'_ thing? It is, isn't it? It's a _'Misery'_ thing!" Chuck looked ready to flee out the nearest window.

"No, it's not a _'Misery'_ thing." Dean insisted with an annoyed huff and rub of his temple.

I strolled lazily to middle of the room, finally earning Chuck's attention which before had been solely on the boys, "We can make it a **_'Misery' _**thing if you want, Chuck. Here, you be James Caan--" I pulled out my Ivanhoe giving him a full view of its sharp blade and the intricate design of the hilt, hoping I would elicit some manner of response, "--and I'll be Cathy Bates."

Chuck paled and his eyes widened in unadulterated panic at the threat.

"Methos, you're not fucking helping!" Dean shouted.

"Pretty sure I am." I rose an eyebrow at Chuck, who had replaced his fear with a whole different type of emotion. _Disbelief_. His eyes were locked on my sword like he'd recognized it. Thought as much. Chuck knew about me. _Oh, I didn't like that_.

"_M-Methos? _How do you know about Methos?" He clenched his teeth and his eyes never left my Ivanhoe, "_Shit._.. even the sword is the same."

"So does that mean I wasn't in any of the books? Well--" I shrugged and put away my sword, shifting to a relaxed posture, "that's a relief. Guess that means I don't have to kill you."

Chuck swallowed heavily, "I--I... honestly, this just isn't funny anymore..."

Dean seethed, "Funny? Funny? This is far from funny, Chuck! None of us are laughing."

"How much do you know? Do you know about the angels? Or Lilith breaking the seals?" Sam interjected.

At this point Chuck was at a point of a nervous breakdown, "How do you know about that?"

"The question is how do you?" Dean jabbed a finger in his direction.

I sidestepped both Chuck and the Winchesters as the continued to argue and settled down at Chuck's computer. They were too busy with each other to notice me. His desk was littered with dirty plates, papers, and half-empty beer cans.

And I thought I could be a slob.

I surveyed a coffee-stained stack of paper. Manuscripts. I skimmed over the top. It appeared to be a retelling of Sam and Dean's encounter with the Fallen Angel, Anna. I was scanning the desk when my eyes caught several crumpled pieces of paper in the trashcan below it. My brow furrowed, as I grabbed for one. Sam and Dean were dragging Chuck out to the Impala to show him their weapon collection to further prove their identity.

I unfolded it and started to read.

_'Dean and Sam were arguing[...] Dean did not trust their 'friend' and did not understand why Sam wanted to forgive him his trespasses. But little did Dean know the extent to which Methos was willing to go to stay alive. What tactics he was willing to implement[...] And how could the brothers even begin to even fathom the motives and drives of a five-thousand year old man and the former Angel of Death? Especially when it appeared Methos did not even fully understand them himself?'_

My hand tightened around the paper, re-crumpling it. I cursed in several dead languages. So, while I may not have featured in any of his published books, Chuck was writing about me_ now_. That didn't sit well with me in the slightest. I glanced to the window to see the Winchesters still speaking to Chuck near the open trunk of the Impala.

In a quick movement I knocked over the trashcan and not bothering to read the discarded writings, shoved them all into the hidden pocket of my trench-coat. I had started to search through the papers laid out on the table itself when the door opened and the boys where back with an even more disheveled looking Chuck Shurley.

He was eying the boys with trepidation before he finally looked in my direction. When his eyes caught me at the desk, he blinked several times dumbly, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"Were you looking through my _t-things_?" He choked on the question, caught between anger at the breech of his personal space and disbelief that it was me standing there doing it. The disbelief, I suspected, was because he'd already written me doing it.

"You sound surprised, Chuck. That's_ funny_--" I sniffed and took a seat in his shoddy desk chair and laid my legs up casually on the desk, "you know, _considering_."

"Considering what?" Sam asked.

"Well, because he's already seen me searching through his things, seen us coming here and questioning him... he's seen us doing _everything._ So, that just begs the question. What are you, Chuck? Seer? Psychic? Some drunken unkempt & male-version of Sybil? And why the selective focus on these two idiots? Why not focus on the lottery numbers? Because, clearly--" I eyed the dirty and rundown surroundings, "--you could use the money."

Chuck gave an unintelligible murmur and shuffled over to the kitchen to grab a whiskey bottle and took a big gulp. He turned back around and saw all of us watching him, expectantly.

"Oh! Oh, you're still there." He winced and gripped the bridge of his nose.

"Yup." Dean replied simply and leaned against the wall.

"Well, there's only one explanation. Obviously I'm a god." Chuck announced with conviction.

"Ha!" I shook my head taking in his dirty bathrobe and unshaven face, "That would certainly explain the state of the world, wouldn't it?"

"How else do you explain it? I write things and then they come to life! Yeah, no, I'm definitely a god. A cruel, cruel, capricious god! The things I put you all through -- the_ physical beatings_ alone." Chuck berated himself.

"Chuck, you're not a god!" Dean sighed.

"We think you're probably just psychic. Like Methos said."

Chuck scoffed, "If I were psychic, you think I'd be writing? Writing is _hard_."

I rose an eyebrow, "He's right, you know. Why do you think Ernest Hemingway was a drunk? Although, Chuck here is no Hemingway. He's certainly got the drinking part down though..."

"Are you working on anything right now?" Dean stepped toward the desk.

"Holy crap." Chuck looked at them in realization.

"What?" Sam asked.

Chuck came toward the desk, and clearly weary of me, quickly snatched some of the coffee stained manuscripts I'd only glazed over before.

"The, uh, latest book? It's, uh, it's kind of weird." Chuck looked at them nervously.

"Weird, how?" Sam frowned

"It's very Vonnegut." Chuck bit his lip and nodded.

Dean looked to him intently, "'_Slaughterhouse-Five'_ Vonnegut or _'Cat's Cradle'_ Vonnegut?"

I gave Dean a double-take. Clearly I hadn't given Dean enough credit in his literary knowledge. Apparently it extended a bit farther that Miss April's _'likes & dislikes_'. Sam was equally surprised by Dean's momentary lapse into academia.

"It's, uh, _'Kilgore Trout'_ Vonnegut. I wrote myself into it. I wrote myself, at my house... confronted by my characters."

* * *

I tossed my whites into the washing machine, as Dean sat reading the latest of Chuck's writings. I was tense about what it might say, but I couldn't very well take the manuscript from Dean without seriously rousing his suspicion. It wasn't like I planned to do anything bad, but I couldn't be positive about that fact. Something might come up.

"I'm sitting in a laundromat, reading about myself sitting in a laundromat reading about myself-– my head hurts." Dean rubbed his temple.

"There's got to be something this guy's not telling us." Sam declared, as he went back to his laundry.

To which Dean responded by glancing down at the writings, "_'Sam tossed his gigantic darks into the machine. He was starting to have doubts about Chuck, about whether he was telling the whole truth._'"

I snorted.

"_'Methos snorted_,'" Dean stopped then frowned at the paper, "_'and then the Immortal scowled deeply as Dean continued to read on. He was worried about what these writings might reveal. He didn't want to boys to know too much._'"

He was glaring at me now. And I was trying very hard not to think much of anything at all or it might wind up on the page. Although it was harder to do than I realized.

I was really starting to dislike Chuck. I think I might have to hurt him. Maybe that was why he was so leery of me. Of course, I_ had_ already threatened him with my sword. Maybe I'd do more than threaten him next time. Of course, now he knew that... because he'd already seen my thinking it... God, this was confusing.

"Stop it." Sam said.

"_''Stop it,' Sam said_.' Dean grinned at his brother, "Guess what you do next."

Sam shook his head and turned around back to his laundry.

Dean looked at the pages, "_'Sam turned his back on Dean, his face brooding and pensive._' I mean, I don't know how he's doing it, but this guy is doing it. I can't see your face, but those are definitely your '_brooding and pensive_' shoulders."

Sam sighed. Dean scowled, "You just thought I was a _dick_."

The youngest Winchester turned around, and gave an impressed nod to his brother.

"This guy's _good_."


	23. Chapter 23

_Disclaimer: Not mine. Honest. I make no money off this. Which sort of sucks because I'm dirt poor._

_A/n: So, I know some people didn't like the finale, but the more I think about it the more I kind of loved it. And it oddly sort of made me wish that it was the final season, because it was that good (in my opinion though). It seems like people either really liked it or really hated it. Meh, oh well. Like Chuck said "some fan's are always gonna bitch". Anyway, regardless. Something that was revealed in the finale make this chappie and the last a bit more interesting I think. I won't say what, in case someone who hasn't seen it still wanted to, without someone jerk off like me ruining it._

* * *

Sam and Dean were asleep. They were still hunters, though, so I still had to be careful. I pretended to go to the bathroom, but I slipped out the window. Despite their mistrust, they'd become complacent about me, I think. I'd thus far done nothing like this, never slipped out of their sight. Not a single time in the past month I'd been with them.

Dean had fallen asleep with the manuscript in hand. Luckily it had seemed to have ended with us leaving the laundromat, so my actions now weren't featured.

And I had to see Chuck. I had to know what he knew. What he knew about the boys, and more importantly what he knew about _me_.

Luckily his house was a short walk from the motel. I didn't want to further incur Dean's wrath by stealing his car. I'd read the discarded papers I taken from Chuck's trash. They included scribbled out mentioning of Sam's demon blood habit and several references to myself. He knew what I was thinking when Dean and Sam had confronted me about being Azrael, the black mail I'd used on Sam, and even that Amanda was very _very_ attracted to Dean (it went into _way_ too much information on what Amanda wanted to do to the boy, frankly).

Chuck Shurley knew more about me than anyone ever had. It was upsetting. If I was being quite honest, it made me _angry_. It was a breach of my personal boundaries in the highest order.

I stepped foot on Chuck's sidewalk and considered my options. Chuck knew what I was going to do. I could use that. Well, let's see... I looked at my watch it was 3:25 AM. I picked up a rather large rock from the side of the road and advanced on the building. If he didn't open the door in the next minute I was going to start smashing his windows.

I had only just started to throw the rock up and down in my palm of my hand when Chuck threw the door open, "Do you have any idea how much windows cost to replace on a house like this?"

I smiled, "Well, it's a good thing you opened the door then, isn't it?"

His initial anger turned into a quaking fear as I stepped closer. I smiled, "What's the matter, Chuck? You seem _tense._"

I quickly sidestepped him and entered his home, leaving him bewildered behind me.

"I-- uh, _no_. It's just the middle of the night... and I-- err... what did you want?"

"Chuck?" I took a seat on his couch.

He turned to me nervously, "Uh, yeah?"

"Don't ask stupid questions." I sighed.

"Uh, right. No more stupid questions, check." He gave a forced laugh and stood stock still at the doorway. The door was still wide open.

I lent back and eyed him carefully, "You going to shut that, Chuck? It's getting kind of chilly in here."

He swallowed and looked back to the door. "Uh, right..." he reluctantly shut it.

Chuck paled and quickly shuffled off to the kitchen.

"Why not get me a glass of whatever it is your drinking?" I leaned my head back to watch him rifle around the cabinets erratically.

"_S-Sure_..." he mumbled.

He came back with a half-spilled glass of what smelled like cheap whiskey. I took a sip and grimaced.

"If you're going to get blitzed out of your mind, you could at least do it on the expensive stuff." I sighed.

"I'm a washed-up writer, not a five-thousand year old man with an infinite disposable income." he frowned and took a seat across from me, dejectedly.

All I had to do was have a garage sale every hundred years or so and I was a millionaire again. Of course I hid that money all over the world in untraceable bank accounts. And depending on who I was that decade, I might not make use of it. Adam Pierson: the lowly graduate student, for example, could not be seen driving around in an Aston Martin and living the lap of luxury. But, it was always good for emergencies to have that money stored up. I had a feeling I might have to make use of it soon, with the way things were going.

I smirked, "Having pairs of socks older that the Ottoman Empire does have its perks. And... can you _really_ be classified as a 'washed-up writer', if you were never a particularly good one in the first place?"

"You're really him, aren't you?" Chuck stared in a mix of awe and fear, ignoring my dig at his writing ability, "When I started to write you, I thought it was too unbelievable... you... you're_ Death_..."

"Well, you already know why I'm here," I dusted off the arm rest of the chair casually, "so let's cut to the chase. How are you doing it? Why are you doing it? And because I value my privacy, stop doing it to me, or I'm going to have to stop you."

Chuck backed away from my dark expression, "_S-Stop me_? But... I... I didn't even know you were real..."

"Now you do." I stood up slowly causing Chuck to sputter uncontrollably, clearly he knew what was coming next.

"No...." He backed up, but I was to quick for him and I grabbed him by the collar of his bathrobe, "No, please! Don't hurt me!"

"You write a single syllable about me again, Chuck--" I slid my knife out of the sleeve of my duster and brought it up to his neck, "Maybe you get to see what Death is really like, hmm?"

"You will not bring harm to this man, _Methos_!" A strong monotone voice ordered from behind me. My shoulder's slumped.

"And why is that, Castiel? Do not tell me _Mr. Alcohol Stained Bathrobe_ here is a servant of God." I rolled my eyes.

"Yes. Chuck Shurley is a Prophet of the Lord." He held up one of the Supernatural books thoughtfully, "One day... these will be known as the Winchester Gospel."

"Clearly you need to work on this whole _'not telling'_ me thing."

I pinched the bridge of my nose and groaned as Chuck quickly extricated himself from my presence.

* * *

_The Prophet Chuck_.

I chuckled to myself. Par for the course, really, considering everything else I'd seen during my time with the Winchesters.

"W-What's so funny...?" Chuck asked from his spot at his computer.

"Honestly?" I smirked, "**_Life._** What a cosmic joke it's turned out to be. No matter how old I get, I'm constantly surprised."

"Oh."

Chuck frowned and went back to his computer. Castiel had long since left to report back the Host, confident that I wasn't about to murder Chuck in his absence. And I wasn't. Might rough him up a little, though. Ya know. If I got bored.

Chuck muttered a question I didn't quite catch.

I looked up from my spot at the couch, "Pardon?"

He fidgeted under my gaze, "Why are you helping them? Sam and Dean? I know that you want to... just not why."

"My reasons are my own Chuck. If you don't know something about me, I'm not about to fill you in. You already know far more about me than I'm comfortable with."

"Right." He coughed and quickly averted his gaze and added under his breath, "...I think it's because you_ like_ them_._"

"_Shut up_, Chuck."

Chuck sputtered, "R-Right... shutting up."

* * *

I stared down at the manuscript that Chuck tossed at me as he quickly shuffled to the other side of the room. I rose an eyebrow at him questioningly. Chuck sniffed, "Uh... you might want to read that... it's--it's kind of important. I already called Sam and Dean about it."

It was early morning already, and I was sure I was going to be hearing about it later from Dean for sneaking out on them. Oh well, it's not like I actually skipped town or anything. I'd just been having a friendly 'chat' with the neighborhood Prophet...

I quickly opened the pages and skimmed through. Half of it didn't make any sense. Dean seeing 'stars' and 'scratching at his pink flowery band-aids'... Sam sleeping with _Lilith_...

"If this is some sort of joke. It's not a very good one."

"It's not a joke. I don't know what it means. Only that it's what I saw." Chuck scratched at his beard and shrugged tiredly.

"They're not going to like this." I sighed, "Hell, I don't even like this."

"Because you so much easier to get along with." Chuck uttered under his breath.

"Maybe not. But I'm certainly much better at taking things in stride than the Wonder-Twins are. Comes with being a cynic." I tossed the manuscript back into Chuck awaiting hands, "You tell them that Sam's going to fall into the_ 'fiery throws of demonic passion'_ with Lilith, they are either going to laugh at you or kick your _'lily white ass'_."

Chuck paled, "So, what do I do?"

"I don't know. Just because I'm old doesn't mean I'm all that wise." I sighed, "But... if it were me? I just wouldn't tell them. But I'm also a complete bastard, so... take what you will from that."

"You're not t-though." Chuck stuttered out.

"What?" I frowned.

"You pretend to be--and okay, sure. You're not a saint, by any means---heh, hello? _Death_? But... you aren't the complete asshole & cynic that you pretend to be." Chuck stated with a confidence that was quickly diminished when I started to stare at him.

"Stop, Chuck. You're making me _blush_."

I rolled my eyes, and then clapped my hands, "Well, as much as fun as this enlightening look into my personal psyche has been-- I'm going to see if I can't track down some answers on my own. And, I also don't fancy still being here when the boys get here so that they can bitch at me for sneaking out. Not to mention when they find out about this little gem." I poked at the manuscript in Chuck's hands.

"Oh, yeah. Okay... well. Good luck." Chuck looked utterly downtrodden at the prospect of revealing what he'd seen to the boys by himself. But I wasn't about to prove him right by sticking around as a show of support. _  
_'


	24. Chapter 24

_Disclaimer: Don't sue me, please. I don't even have a job. Kripke and Widen own the characters not me._

_A/n: Sorry, its a short one, but I felt like posting... so I did. Take that ;)_

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* * *

_

I'm not rightly sure what I thought I'd accomplish on my own.

I had needed the breather, though. In the past few centuries I'd been something of loner, and spending every waking minute with the Winchesters was becoming a bit suffocating.

I made my way to the center of town. It was a cute area, lots of little boutiques and gift shops. Probably even had a pub where 'everyone knew your name'.

I may not have had an exact idea of what I was going to do next, but I did have a lead. Sighing, I sat myself down on a bench just outside a used book store and pulled out my mobile. It rang several times before a husky voice responded from the other end.

"Hello? _Old man_, is that you?"

"Yeah, Pam." I smiled warmly, "It's me."

I would have asked how the blind woman knew it was me calling, but I'd already chastised Chuck for asking stupid questions, so I wasn't about to start asking them myself.

"Something up? The boys okay?" Pam sounded concerned, but masked it well.

"They're fine. For now anyway." I shifted on the bench readjusting the phone to my ear, "I actually called to get your opinion on something."

"Oh? Well, if its on the color of your newest set of drapes, I'm afraid I can't help you." she replied in easy amusement.

I chuckled. I really liked Pam. If things were different, and I weren't so caught up in this Apocalypse nonsense... well... I'll leave it to your imagination.

"It's a non-interior decorating question. No worries."

"Well then shoot, hotshot." She purred.

"A crossroads demon needs a kiss to seal a deal, correct?" I supplied.

"Yes..." Pamela sounded suspicious, like maybe she thought I was considering doing something royally stupid. And maybe I was, just not that particular brand of stupid.

"Well, say a more powerful demon wanted to make a deal, do you think maybe it might require something a bit more-- well..." I drifted off, hoping she'd get the point.

"What, like _screwing_?" She offered, unabashed.

"Yeah. Like that."

"Uh, I don't know know, sweet cheeks. Makes sense. _Why?_ You aren't getting lonely and planning to doing the deed with a big bad, are you? Cause I gotta say... _ass_ like yours would be wasted on some black eyed bimbo." Pam drawled. "Just sayin'."

"Hmm... _no_. I'm not quite that desperate, Pam. Don't worry. I'm just working on a hunch." I stood up and started across the street to the farmer's market. I had to pick up a few supplies. "Just wanted to get your opinion to see if I was on the right track, that's all."

"Aw, hun..." her voice lowered a few decibels, "If you were looking for an excuse to call and hit on me, just say so."

I laughed, "You caught me, Pamela."

"Thought so." I could practically hear her grinning through the phone, "Well, don't be a stranger, old man. You want to hit on me again, don't you hesitate to call."

"I'll do that." I returned her flirtation with ease.

"You better." she laughed lazily, "I'm psychic and I'll find your ass. Cause like I said, it's a rather nice one."

* * *

So, on the list of the stupidest things I'd ever done... I imagine what I was about to do next might just rank in the top ten. Which was impressive for me because I had a _very_ long list.

I set up the last of the spell in the 'by the hour' motel room I'd booked.

The spell was old Norse magic. I'd always been a fan of the Norse mythology. The Prose and Poetic Edda's were things of literary beauty. Not to mention that I liked Gods that made no attempts at appearing perfect and unflappable. Flawed. Seemed more realistic that way. The world was a veritable cornucopia of death and disappointment... but that was because the Gods were _assholes_. Made things simple. Concise. And completely understandable.

Certainly easier to explain than a benevolent God who simply let evil happen for some unexplainable reason. I wondered how I could ever have been someone who followed such a creator. And followed without question, at least for a little while. I'd been an Angel after all. And that's what Angels did.

Unless they were Lucifer.

_Well._ Perhaps that was part of the reason I'd fallen. Made sense.

_Anyway_, back to the point. Old Norse magic. It was a summoning spell of a sort. Of a sort, I say, because it didn't bring the entity I wished to speak to directly to my doorstep. It sent my presence to the doorstop of the creature I was seeking. Not like astral projection. I could still sense my true surroundings. It was like a video conference call where the recipient could not track my IP address and I could cut contact at anytime.

Not to say it wasn't dangerous. And _stupid_. Like poking a hornet's nest with a stick. It might provoke Lilith into viewing me as a threat. But I was going on several hunches. The first, and most important, I was Death... and hopefully that gave me some power over her. That was a big HOPEFULLY. Second, something had changed. For some reason Lilith wanted to make a deal with Sam, instead of just killing him. There had to be a reason. I needed to find out what that reason was. I had a feeling it was important.

I set the Tupperware container of pig's blood in front of me. Not a chalice, but it still worked. I uttered a few words in Old Norse. I dipped my fingers in the container and withdrew the now bloodstained digits drawing a large symbol around myself on the tile floor of the bathroom. I'd never conducted the spell myself. But I'd read of it and seen spells of similar nature conducted before. Yes, so I'd seen these spells conducted thousands of years ago. What's your point? My memory is quite good, thank you. Near photographic. I might have been old, but I wasn't exactly senile.

I closed the circular symbol around me and uttered the final verse and ended it with Lilith's name.

A flash. And I saw her. A blond comely dental hygienist. That was the vessel she was wearing at the moment, anyway.

There were some other demons around and two jumped like frightened teenagers at my sudden appearance.

Lilith remained unperturbed. She simply stared at my shape and reached out like a curious child. Her fingers pierced through the incorporeal form like a fork through Jello, and she giggled.

I tried not to act surprised by her childlike demeanor. The Winchesters had told me of her fondness for taking little girls as vessels, but I hadn't put much thought into the idea that it was because she acted like one.

"That's interesting..." she cooed thoughtfully before lifting her head slowly to smile meekly up at me, "Hello, Azreal. It's been a while."


	25. Chapter 25

**_Disclaimer: Not mine._**

**_A/n: This is a longer chapter to make up for the short one._**

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* * *

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I gave the demon a small tilt of my head, "Lilith."

She stared at my visage thoughtfully, "Old pagan magiks? How beneath you, Azrael..."

"Well, I don't exactly have my Angelic gifts anymore, do I?" I shifted into a practiced persona of authority and indifference, "But I hear you're working to change all that?"

Lilith's smile faltered for a fraction of a second, then forcibly returned, "Yes. Once my father is risen, you will be made whole. I take it that you approve?"

I eyed her thoughtfully.

"That remains to be seen. More importantly... I take it that you have misgivings. No sense in lying-" time to take a gamble and hope it paid off, "I know you want to make a deal with Sam."

Any semblance of a grin bled from her features. She suddenly looked- _dare I say it?_- scared.

Lilith's head snapped to the other demons, her childish voice suddenly acidic. "_Leave us_."

The demons shrank back from her angry tone and quickly left the room. It looked like there were in an abandoned house. Or possibly just a house whose owners were taken over by the demons currently inhabiting it.

"How did you-?" Lilith looked at me slightly askance, like a child who'd just been chastised by her father, "I'm sorry. I'm just..."

"Just what?" I asked smoothly.

I had to convince her that I knew more than I did. That way she'd reveal things to me because she thought I already knew them.

I felt my stomach drop slightly when she looked at me suspiciously, "You helped Sam and Dean kill Alastair. You even tortured him before that. So, whose side are you on?"

"Side? Don't be so obtuse," I scowled, "I'm on _my own_ side. And Alastair is dead because he was careless."

Lilith pouted, "He said some very mean things about you. That you'd gone soft. That you're actually friends with the Winchesters..."

"Then clearly Alastair didn't know me as well as he claimed. Since when have my actions ever been so transparent? I've taken up the appearance of helping those idiots, so that I can keep an eye on them."

I almost added _'Like Ruby'_, but I couldn't be certain she was actually working with Lilith enough to risk the bluff.

Lilith looked positively giddy at my words.

"I knew it! Even without your full nature and memories restored. You'd never turn away from us like that! " Her eyes turned white as she slunk closer to my image, "You'd never turn away from _me_..."

_Don't tell me I_- Lilith brought her lips up to mine cutting off any further thought processes.

I couldn't actually feel her lips, as this was simply a projection, but it certainly made my eyebrows nearly shoot right off my skull. Which luckily she didn't see. I had to maintain my image after all.

She pulled away, still staring at me in adoration and I tried to look as unperturbed as possible by the latest development. I hoped it was working because, while I prided myself on being prepared for any situation, having Lilith kiss me hadn't really even occurred to me. Before now, anyway.

I took in a deep breath, and maintained the facade, "Don't think that this means I've forgotten about the deal you wanted to make with Sam..."

Lilith slumped slightly, a frown creasing the forehead of the woman she was wearing.

"It's just- if we succeed and break all the seals. It's my destiny to die before the end. I won't get to see my father walk the Earth..."

I nodded in my best sage adviser-like way, while my mind continued to race.

"I see. So you want to make a deal with Sam to stop breaking the seals? End the war?"

She stared up at me, clearly expecting a reprimand, "I'm sorry, Azrael! I'm so sorry. I'm just scared. I don't want to _die_..."

I placed a ghostly hand on her cheek as an attempt at comfort, "It's okay, my dear. If you want to end this... then _end _it. I can't say that I wouldn't be disappointed that my powers aren't returned to me. But nor do I wish to see you dead. I'll find another way to get them back. Another way to get my brother free."

Lilith sniffled and looked up at me in surprise, "But there is no other way."

I frowned, feigning disappointment.

"Then you should do it. If you don't die. I'll never become Death again."

I scowled and did my best to seem unrepentant in my decision.

Lilith recoiled in shock, betrayal obvious on her face, "What?"

I had to convince her to go through the deal with Sam, but I wasn't about to just tell her to do it. Then she'd get suspicious again.

I could, however, plant the idea in her head that I could do absolutely nothing to punish her if she didn't continue breaking seals. She was facing death if she followed through with releasing Lucifer so she had little incentive to go through with it. And I didn't have my powers now. What could I possibly do to make her end her life? Nothing. I needed to make her see that.

"You heard me." I crossed my arms, "You'll do it because I'm telling you to."

Anger boiled off her in waves.

"And what are you going to do to me, if I don't?"

I tried not to grin that she'd taken the bait. Instead I recoiled in shock and sputtered, losing all my previous bravado.

"I...I-uh.."

She sneered, "That's right. _Nothing_."

I looked thoroughly out of sorts and then disappeared.

* * *

The spell subsided and I was left to the deathly silence of the cheap motel room. _Great_. So, what now? I only had to convince Sammy to sleep with his archenemy. No big deal, right?

I groaned and got to my feet. But I had to do it. I had to explain to Sam why he needed to do it. It would end this. The Apocalypse would never happen. And I could go back my happy existence of drinking beer and mocking Duncan MacLeod.

It had to be done. Clearly Sam would see that. Dean... well, he was a different story. He wouldn't want to see Lilith within ten feet of his little brother, let alone her sleeping with him.

I grabbed my coat and broadsword and headed for the door.

Sam could take one for the team and everyone went home happy. Except for Sam, who might have to take a month long shower afterward. But it was for the greater good. Definitely. No question.

Right?

* * *

I approached the motel with a determined stride. The Impala wasn't parked out front, but the light in the room was on. So hopefully, it was just Sam. Preparing myself with a deep breath I opened the door and walked through.

I stood there, dumbfounded. This wasn't our motel room. My eyes adjusted to the brightness of my new surroundings. White walls. Cathedral like ceilings. A long table in the center of the room. There was an out of place ice cooler with my favorite Belgian beer poking out of it.

"So much for Immortals not going senile..." I muttered to myself as I spun around several times to take it all in.

"You've become a real pain in my ass, Azrael." An annoyed voiced stated from my left.

My eyes snapped to the possible threat, my hand reaching instinctively to my sword. A white male, in his mid to late forties, slightly overweight, balding... general air of self-importance. He screamed middle-management.

I hated him on the spot.

"I tend to have that effect on a lot of people." I gave him a cocky grin.

I wasn't about to give this 'man' any sense of my discomfort. I was in danger, clearly at the mercy of this... I was guessing Angel, based on my white ethereal surroundings.

"Yes. I've noticed." He glared at me doing his best to seem intimidating.

It was working. But I wasn't about to let him know it. Although, based on the Angel's knowing smirk he may have been able to read my thoughts anyway, and my posturing was pointless. Oh well. It did make me feel better, at least.

I walked calmly over to the table and grabbed one of the Belgian beers. Only, once I picked it up it changed into a cheap Natural Light.

_Prick_.

Undeterred, I popped off the cap against the table and took a seat, propping my feat up on the table, "So, what have I done that's so ass-chaffingly awful?"

"You're trying to stop it." He frowned, "Trying to ruin everything we've been working so hard for! It can't be stopped. It _has_ to happen."

I was starting to question my assumption that this was an Angel I was talking to. Why would the Angels want the world to end? That's didn't make any bloody sense.

"Nothing_ has_ to happen." I rolled my eyes, "...I assume this is the Apocalypse we're talking about?"

"Of course I'm talking about the Apocalypse!" the man become increasingly more red in the face, "You haven't changed at all, you smug bastard."

"I'm sensing some hostility here. Can't say why, when I'm only doing what I would_ assume _Heaven would _want_." I set the cheap beer on the mahogany table, "So why the_ Hell _would the Angels want the Apocalypse to happen...?"

I trailed off realizing he'd never actually introduced himself.

"I'm Zachariah." He supplied in a way that indicated that he was clearly a hypocrite for calling me the smug bastard, "And we want it to happen so that we can cut down Lucifer once and for all. And you're going to help us."

Good thing I hadn't been drinking the beer or I would have choked on it. If the big 'A' happened, wouldn't that automatically put me on the side of Lucifer? It didn't make any sense.

"It makes perfect sense." Zachariah smiled, "You're going to be our mole. You're going to make sure we win."

I just stared at him. He couldn't be serious.

"I'm dead serious." He responded, jovially, "Terrible pun, I know."

I felt a sense of dread creep up in me, "And why would I help you?"

"Obviously, I don't expect you to help out of the 'kindness' of your heart. You tend to only care about yourself, after all. But see, I know your_ weakness_."

He took a for foreboding step in my direction.

"What are you saying?" I doubted very much that I was going to like the answer.

"I'm saying..." Zachariah brought his hand up and clicked his finger, "_this_."

Suddenly, we weren't alone in the room. Another person was standing next to Zachariah. For a moment I couldn't do anything but stare.

When she finally spoke and I think it may have been the sweetest sound I'd ever heard.

"Adam?"

"A-Alexa?"


	26. Chapter 26

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Highlander or Supernatural, no copyright infringement intended  
**_

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* * *

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It had been a few years, but the pain of it was still fresh. Watching Alexa whither away over the course of only a year had been one of the worst moments in recent memory. I'd had plenty of bad experiences and losses, mind. And I'd had to watch many many people wither with age. And no matter how many times it happened it always hurt. And I would do most anything to get any one of them back.

Or so I thought. Now... well, I wasn't so sure.

She stepped toward me, looking the beauty she'd been at the beginning, not the dying woman lying in the hospital breathing through a tube that she'd been at the end. Alexa was about to speak and then suddenly she was gone.

I got up from my seat and advanced on Zachariah, all concerns over what the Angel could do to me foregone.

"What are you playing at!" I growled and gripped his suit jacket in my trembling fists.

He smiled, completely unfazed by my anger. If anything it seemed to make him grin wider, "I'm just making a point."

"Was that even her?" I growled.

"No, of course not. She's still sitting pretty in her own personal corner of Heaven. But... that can all _change_." He replied menacingly.

"What do you mean, you'll bring her back?"

He laughed, "Oh of course not. See, you get your Grace back you can do that yourself. _Angel of Death_, remember?" He tapped his temple with a single finger, "Oh, that's right. You don't remember."

There wasn't any warning. One second I was gripping the Angel's lapels, the next I was pinned to the wall by Zachariah's outstretched arm. His nails dug into my shoulder, drawing blood.

He started to straighten out his suit with his free hand, "See, I can make sure you _never_ get to her. And while she's in Heaven, I can make it feel like Hell... you see, I'm very creative and Alexa is quite an attractive woman, for an_ ape_, anyway."

His suggestive tone made my blood boil, "You son of a-!"

Zachariah slammed my back against the wall and I could hear my collar bone snap and I let out an involuntary hiss of pain.

"But, that's not all. You've had what, 68 wives? Many more lovers. Friends. Hell, even just acquaintances. And I can make them all _very_ unhappy. Well, the one's that actually made it to Heaven..."

I tried to push him off me, but it was like trying to move a brick wall with a toothpick. I was livid. But apparently Zachariah wasn't done. I felt my collarbone start to snap back into place and repair itself as he spoke.

"And then there are those friends of yours that are still alive. Amanda, Joe, and of course Duncan MacLeod." he sneered, "I'll be sure to kill _him_ first."

I leveled him with a dark glare.

"Here's my counteroffer, Zachariah." I smiled, "If the Apocalypse happens, and I get my Grace back? You so much as look funny at someone I passed by in a gas station parking lot- and I won't just _kil_l you, I'll have you begging me to kill you. You think you're creative? Me? I'm an artist. And that's just _now_. Imagine what I'll be when I'm the Angel of Death once more."

Zachariah released me. I could see the fear flicker past his eyes before it was replaced with false bravado.

"So, then you won't work with us?"

My eyes narrowed dangerously, "What gave it away?"

He sighed, and it was hard to read him entirely, but I was pretty sure I had deterred from carrying out on his threat. For now, anyway.

"Well, my orders were clear. If you don't cooperate, then you stay here so that you can't interfere. You'll be impossible to contain once you get your Grace back. But before that, _well_." Zachariah clicked his fingers and the beer that had been on the table disappeared, "Have fun repeatedly dieing of starvation, _brother_. We'll be sure to make it top priority, just under killing Lucifer that is, that when the time comes you meet a shift and untimely end."

I scowled, my hatred of this Angel was nearing astronomical levels. If I got my Grace back and was still remotely a similar person, I _would_ be coming after him. I felt some satisfaction with the fact that Zachariah looked slightly worried before he disappeared.

* * *

I'd given up trying to find an exit a few hours in. Now I'd taken to pacing the room. I wasn't sure how long it had been. Maybe a day, maybe two. It had been rather easy to lose track of time in this small room.

The paintings hung on the walls had kept me occupied for a little while. All Renaissance style works, most seemed to depict Lucifer's fall. Although, there was one later Pre-Raphaelite painting that I was familiar with. A painting by the late 19th century artist Evelyn de Morgan of the Angel of Death standing over a woman in a red dress. Looked nothing like me. Plus, I was never one for black capes... maybe I should start.

I'd really stepped in it this time. I might get out of here eventually. Like when the Apocalypse started and the other Horseman and myself started walking the Earth. That was hardly a comforting thought.

"Damn it."

I took a seat at the table dejectedly. What were Sam and Dean doing? Had Sam made the deal, despite my influence?

"_Methos._" A gruff voice spoke across the room.

I stood up in a flash, "Castiel?"

I was about to ask him to get me out of here, but it occurred to me that it might be a futile endeavor. He would do as the other Angels ordered him.

He stepped in my direction, confusion written over his face, "Why is Zachariah keeping you here? What did you do?"

"What did_ I_ do?" I scoffed, "You're joking right?"

Castiel tilted his head to the side in curiosity, "I am _not_."

"Please tell me that you have nothing to do with this." I eyed him, wearily.

I'd found myself becoming quite fond of Castiel, and if he'd known all along about the Apocalypse...

"Do with what?" Castiel looked around the room uneasily, "Dean and Sam did not know where you were. The Prophet Chuck didn't know either, he had not received any vision of your whereabouts. It's been three days. Dean requested that I track you down. That is how I came to find you here."

"I found out that Lilith wished to make a deal with Sam. She was going to stop breaking seals. I was going to tell him..." I started to explain.

Castiel stepped closer and right into my personal space, "How did you discover Lilith's intentions?"

I groaned, "It's not important, I have to tell Sam & Dean about it and-"

"Dean already stopped Lilith from making her deal with Sam." Castiel stated firmly, although he still looked suspicious about how I'd come across my information on Lilith, but did not push the issue. Thank Go-well, thank _someone._

"What?" I sputtered, "H-How?"

Castiel frowned, "He did not know Lilith's intentions. Dean brought the Prophet Chuck to the hotel where Lilith met Sam. The Archangel strapped to the Prophet swooped down to protect his charge."

_"Oh._" I blinked, "Did the Archangel kill her?"

"No. She escaped." He stared at me, "So, why are you here?"

"Because I actually had a shot at stopping the Apocalypse and the higher ups didn't want that." I scowled.

Castiel reeled back, "Are you implying that Heaven _wants_ the Apocalypse to happen?"

"I would be implying that, yes." I rolled my eyes, and then leaned against the table, "Only I can't figure why they would have bothered to have you drag Dean's ass from Hell, if they didn't actually want him to stop it. Putting up false pretenses for the ground forces, like you, maybe?"

The Angel's face showed far more emotion than I'd ever seen from him before. And to say that Castiel looked conflicted was the understatement of the century.

"Dean broke the first seal." Castiel seemed to be trying very hard to maintain his normal composure, "The first seal is broken when a righteous man spills blood in Hell. We learned of Hell's plans and laid siege to it in order to get Dean out. But when we got there, it was too late."

"But you got him out anyway?" I asked in clear surprise.

"Yes." Castiel nodded tightly, "The one who started it, is the only one who can finish it."

I sighed, "Yes, but Angels like Zachariah don't want it stopped. They want Lucifer free so that they can kill him for good. No matter how many people are killed on Earth in the process!"

Castiel stared at me closely, clearly searching as to whether or not I was speaking the truth. Suddenly he nodded to himself, as a silent confirmation that he believed me. Then he looked off in concentration, his brow furrowed, "We are about to have company."

My eyes widened, "What do we do?"

Castiel looked uncomfortable, "I... I don't know."

"Well, you damn well better do something, Cas." I growled out, "You know its wrong, otherwise they would have told you the truth from the start!"

He stared at me for a moment, then seemed to reach a decision, "We have to warn Dean and Sam."

The room started to shake and the lights flicker.

Castiel reached out an arm and latched out to my shoulder, "We must go, _now_."

I flinched slightly when a bulb burst to my right near my head, "You'll get no argument from me."


	27. Chapter 27

**_Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or Highlander. No infringement intended.  
_**

**_A/n: Sorry for the delay, I've been busy with real life concerns. Like finding a job. Boo._**

* * *

I fell to the ground with thud onto the thick concrete of the abandoned building. We'd been jumping from place to place for the past several hours.

"Ow." I was slightly woozy, but it soon subsided.

Castiel stood stock still above me, "I've contacted Dean, he and Sam should be meeting us here soon."

I crawled to my feet slowly, "What? When did you do that?"

The Angel gave me a look, "I entered his dreams while I was transporting us from location to location."

"Oh, right. You entered his dreams. Silly me." I responded with a roll of my eyes, "So, I know this was my idea, but how exactly do we hide from Heaven?"

"I can feel them searching. But I believe we've lost them for the moment," Castiel turned to me, raising a hand and planted it firmly on my chest causing me to flinch, "I can hide you for a time. Burn sigils directly on your bones. Unfortunately they will heal, but slower than a regular injury you'd sustain. You'd have a few hours before they'll fade."

There was a searing pain that rippled through my entire body and then it was gone as soon as it came. I blinked several time. Well, that was certainly a new feeling.

"We'll have to find someway to hide you permanently later..."

"What about you?" Not that I was worried about him or anything. What a ludicrous suggestion to make.

"I will..." he paused mid-sentence.

I tensed, "What?"

"They're_ here_." Castiel looked around the room with a grim expression, "I-I can't leave, they've trapped me..."

"What do you mean, you can't-" Castiel cut me off by placing his index and middle finger directly on my forehead just as the room started to shake and the room grew bright.

"Find Dean! Tell him to-"

The room filled with a piercing roar that shattered my eardrums. Now bleeding profusely from my ears, I could see that Castiel was screaming something at me that I couldn't hear as bright blinding light advanced on us. Castiel pushed the fingers he had on my forehead and I fell backwards into the sand.

_Wait._ Sand?

Castiel's compass must have been slightly askew because of the onslaught, because I seriously doubted Sam and Dean where in the desert. I laid back on the ground, blinking at the sun beating down on me, allowed myself to heal as I contemplated my predicament.

What was i supposed to do now? The first thing would be to figure out where I was, obviously. I turned my head in both directions. It was a large desert. All I could see was dunes. No trees, no plants. just sand.

"Bloody fantastic." I got to my feet, the only reminder of my injuries was the blood crusted on my ears and staining my white wool sweater. Not exactly the appropriate attire for the heat. I quickly shirked off my sweater leaving only my t-shirt and tied the sweater around my waist. I might need it for later.

I had to find somewhere to hide in a few hours before the sigils wore off. I'd been reading up on Enochian ever since I'd learned it was a real language. I might able to make a protection ward around a dwelling. If I could find one.

I looked around trying to get my bearings. The sun was setting to my right. East. I picked that direction and started off.

* * *

The desert heat certainly hadn't changed in the hundreds of years since I'd had to endure it._ Oh, blessed air conditioning, how I long from your cold embrace_. I didn't have a watch, I hadn't a clue how long I'd been walking. Hours maybe. Likely the sigils hadn't worn off yet or I'd have all of hordes of cross angels raining down on me. I needed to find something soon, or I was going to be back where I started. I wondered what had become of Castiel. What had the angels done to him? Was there some chance he'd gotten away?

I was torn out of my thoughts when I spotted an oasis. Not civilization, but I had little other choices as the moment. I did question the convenience of it, though. It may have been a trick. But as I said, my options were slim at this point. I rushed to it. Several palms tree and an ample supply of water. I could survive here. It wasn't a Marriott by any means, but I'd survived on less. But before I did anything, I had to make sure I wasn't found. Zachariah had taken my sword along with my trench-coat, damn him, but I still had a dagger in my boot and a Swiss Army in my back pocket. I pulled out the Swiss Army knife and looked around. I found a spot that gave me a circle of trees surrounding me and plenty of space to work with inside it.

I walked up to a tree and carved a Enochian warding symbol on it. Then I started on the next.

"_No, no, no_... you've got it all wrong! That one symbol there needs more curving around the edges, like a pair of upside down butt-cheeks!" A mocking voice spoke to my left. Had I not had years of experience in maintaining my composure I would have jumped right out of my skin. I bent to reach for my dagger before I looked to the voice.

There was a man sitting casually on a downed log. He had dishwater blond hair and was biting into a Twizzler watching me with amusement. I stood up my dagger in hand and this only seemed to make him more jovial, he waved a hand at me. "_Oh_, there's no need for that!" He hopped off the log finishing off the red licorice, "Wouldn't work anyway."

"Oh?" I eyed the man, or more than likely demon or angel, carefully.

He walked past me ignoring my threatening stance and headed toward the tree to stare at the symbol. Then he looked back to me, "Can I see that?" he pointed at the Swiss army knife that was in my other hand.

Not sure what else to do, I obliged him and tossed the closed knife toward him, my dagger still poised in my other hand.

"Thanks." he gave a grin with amply dimpled cheeks and turned back to the tree fixing my symbol with care, "There. That's what its supposed to look like."

He handed the knife back to me and I was dumbfounded, "Thanks for that."

The blond shrugged, his eyes still mocking, "You got it, _buddy_." he pulled a package of Twizzlers out of his jacket and gestured it toward me, "Want one?" I eyed the package warily, "Not poisoned, scout's honor. If I'd wanted to kill you, you'd be dead."

"Not exactly comforting..." I frowned. not taking the proffered food even though I was starving

He looked unrepentant, "Wasn't meant to be, genius. You know that you're in some deep shit, right? Like world of shit and there's about to be a diarrhea hurricane. Why did you have to go and try and stop it?"

I blinked, "I'm sorry?"

He scowled, a sudden wave of anger bubbling up in him, "You should be sorry!"

I was dumbfounded, but did my best not to show it, "I would... but I haven't felt guilt since the 11th century."

He looked at me incredulously, "Pff! That bull crap might work on the Highlander, Az, but that's only because he doesn't know any better. Not anymore. But it ain't gonna work on me."

My eyes narrowed, "And who are you, exactly?" I took my Swiss Army knife in hand and went to the next tree to continue the wards.

He ignored the question and watched curiously as I carved, "Most of them don't really know you. The Angels. They think you're a turncoat. Flip-flopper. Apathetic. But, they don't know the truth."

I glared at him, "And what truth is that?"

"You're a coward." He stated simply.

"Hmm... is that supposed to make me angry?" I glanced at him as I continued.

"It never did." He shrugged, "But I wasn't finished. What they never really understood is that you also... well, you_ care_.. About the humans. The good ones anyway. That's always been your main concern. Saving people. Well, secondary to your own survival of course."

"Naturally." I replied, caustically.

He looked over at my carving, "You really don't need to do that, you know. Those symbols Castiel seared into your skeleton faded about..." he glanced down at his watch-less wrist, "oh, 30 minutes ago. I've been making sure those pesky Angels can't find you in the mean time."

I stopped and turned to him, "Just who _are _you?"

He smirked, "Oh, me? You can call me..._ Loki_."

"The trickster god of Norse mythology?" He nodded and I pinched the bridge of my nose, "Shouldn't you be tied to a rock somewhere? It's not Ragnarok too, is it?"

"Very good, smarty pants. But, no. Ragnarok hasn't come_ quite_ yet. I escaped from that rock ages ago. It's actually kind of hard to tie effective knots with entrails. Can just rip the intestines apart, easy."

I actually knew that. You're probably better off not knowing why. It involved Caspian's rather disgusting eating habits and side hobbies.

"So, why are you here?" I looked at him curiously, and then to our surroundings, "Am I to assume this oasis is only one of your tricks?"

"Naturally." he grinned and then brought his bag of Twizzlers up to me again, "Sure you don't want one?"

"I'm sure. I hate Twizzlers." I gave him a thin smile.

He gasped, "Blasphemy! Twizzlers are the humans finest creation! Tasty and they double as straws. You can't tell me it gets any better than that!"

"Yes, man walking on the moon pales in comparison to the wonder that is the Twizzler." I sighed.

"Exactly. I'm glad you see my point." The Trickster smiled genially... which sort of terrified me.

"You didn't answer my question." I noted with annoyance.

"Gosh, lighten up, will ya?" He sighed dramatically, "You've been hanging around Sam and Dean too much. You're getting touchy."

"Sam and Dean have nothing to do with my attitude." I stared at him, "And you still didn't answer my question."

He laughed, "On the contrary, my dear Azrael. Sam and Dean have everything to do with your attitude. And I'm getting to answering your question... just give me a second." Loki snapped his fingers and suddenly we were in a bar. I was sitting down in a comfortable chair and a beer in my hand. For once I didn't drink it. I didn't trust this pagan god for a second. He wasn't called a Trickster for nothing.


End file.
